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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


AND 


BY 


JAMES    NACK, 


DELISSER  &  PROCTER,  508  BROADWAY, 
1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1858, 

BY    JAMES    NACK, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


P.  CARRICK,  Printer, 
248  Canal  Street,  New  York. 


/V  i/9  f* 

TO 

C.   NESTELL   BOVEE,    ESQ. 


MY  DEAB  SIR: 

THESE  cannot  be  a  more  effectual  way  to  connect 
the  publication  of  a  volume  with  pleasant  reminis 
cences,  than  to  associate  it  with  the  name  of  a  cher 
ished  friend.  It  is  therefore  perfectly  natural  that  I 
should  inscribe  the  present  volume  to  you  as  an 
offering  of  esteem  and  affection. 

Wishing,  rather  than  expecting,  that  the  following 
pages  may  in  part  repay  the  gratification  I  have 
derived  from  yours,  I  indulge  myself  at  once  in  a 
pleasure  and  an  honor,  by  subscribing  myself 

YOUR  FKIEND, 

JAMES  NACK. 

"904576 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

MEMOIR   OF  THE  AUTHOR 5 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  RING 13 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  VENGEANCE 37 

LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM 91 

The  Flower  of  Love 93 

My  Blue-Eyed  Maid 94 

My  Fondest  and  Fairest 95 

The  Charms  of  Woman 96 

The  Grave  of  Mary 98 

My  own,  my  chosen  Bride 99 

Love  without  Hope < 199 

Love  will  Find  out  the  Way. 102 

My  Love  loves  Me 104 

Broken  Ties 106 

The  Best  and  the  Worst  of  It 107 

The  Lock  of  Hair. 108 

I  know  that  Thou  art  far  Away, 109 

Love's  Ambition 110 

Wedded  Love...  .112 


li  CONTENTS. 

DOMESTIC  PIECES 115 

A  New  Year's  Greeting  to  My  Daughter 118 

To  My  Wife 120 

She  calls  Me  Father 122 

My  Little  Daughter's  Welcome 123 

A  Father's  Dirge 124 

The  Watches  of  the  Night 128 

My  Boy 135 

A  Valentine  to  My  Wife 133 

My  Babe 135 

My  Darling  Little  Mary 137 

The  Mother's  Pride 138 

The  Font 139 

The  Namesake 140 

On  the  Death  of  a  Toung  Sister 142 

MISCELLANEOUS 145 

To  Charles  Dickens 147 

Passing  the  Church 149 

The  Best  of  Counsel 152 

To  Gertrude 153 

Woman's  Ministry 155 

Walter  Scott  and  Washington  Irving 156 

The  Bell  Song 159 

My  Childhood 179 

To  Cordelia 172 

Alone 173 

The  Difference 174 

The  Pearl-Handled  Knife 175 

The  Battle  of  the  Snakes 181 

Catching  a  Fox 186 

The  Old  Clock 188 

The  Magic  Eing 194 


CONTENTS.  iii 

The  Story  of  a  King 197 

What  I  would  Like 200 

The  People's  Princes 202 

Twenty  Years  Ago 204 

The  Influence  of  the  Affections 205 

Song  of  the  Toothache  Imps 206 

The  "Wet  Morning 207 

Life  and  Death 209 

Booth 210 

The  Sum  of  Philosophy 212 

The  Hero 213 

What  should  we  Do,  my  Brother 215 

The  Canary-Bird 216 

Young  Napoleon  at  his  Father's  Grave 218 

New  Year  Thoughts 221 

A  Hundred  Years  from  Now 222 

Vanity  of  Vanities 224 

New  Year  Hymn 225 

Spring  is  Coming 226 

My  Pretty  Birds 227 

My  Cap 228 

The  Sun 230 

A  Woman  as  She  should  Be 232 

Forget  Me  Not 232 


MEMOIR  OF  JAMES  NACK, 


QEORGE   P.    MORRIS. 


genius  of  no  common  order  is  placed  in  conflict 
with  circumstances  of  peculiar  difficulty,  it  presents  a 
subject  of  interesting  contemplation  to  those  who  take  an 
interest  in  the  philosophy  of  the  human  mind.  Hence  the 
career  of  JAMES  NACK  has  engaged  the  attention  of  more 
than  one  eminent  writer.  The  elegant  memoir  of  General 
WETMORE  is  familiar  to  all  conversant  with  the  literature 
of  our  country;  and,  in  the  present  brief  sketch,  we  shall, 
to  a  great  extent,  avail  ourselves  of  his  remarks,  with  a 
few  additional  particulars  from  other  sources. 

JAMES  NACK  is  the  son  of  a  merchant  of  the  city  of  New 
York,  and  was  born  on  the  fourth  of  January  1809.  From 
his  earliest  years  his  attention  to  study  and  literature  gave 
promise  of  future  distinction.  His  first  efforts  in  poetry 
were  at  so  early  an  age,  it  might  be  said  of  him  as  of  POPE, 

"  He  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came." 

But  the  fond  expectations  which  his  precocious  talents 
naturally  inspired  among  his  friends  and  family,  appeared 
to  be  suddenly  destroyed  by  an  accident,  which  might 
have  been  fatal  to  the  development  of  genius  less  innate, 
or  faculties  less  energetic  than  those  with  which  he  was 


6  MEMOIR. 

endowed.  He  had  scarcely  attained  his  ninth  year,  when 
one  day,  as  he  was  descending  a  flight  of  stairs  with  a 
little  playmate  in  his  arms,  his  foot  slipped ;  hi  his  fall  he 
caught  at  the  nearest  article,  which  happened  to  be  a 
heavy  fire-screen ;  this  gave  way,  and  descending  upon 
his  head,  crushed  and  mangled  it  severely,  depriving  him 
of  consciousness  for  several  weeks,  and  of  his  hearing  for 
ever. 

It  is  a  natural  consequence  of  a  deprivation  of  hearing 
in  early  life,  for  the  articulation  to  become  gradually  im 
perfect  for  want  of  an  ear  to  guide  its  pronunciation,  and 
NACK  has  not  entirely  escaped  this  misfortune.  Hence, 
though  his  speech  is  intelligible  to  those  who  have  groAvn 
up  with  him,  and  become  accustomed  to  its  peculiarities, 
he  prefers  to  carry  on  his  intercourse  with  others  in  writ 
ing.  To  many  the  loss  of  hearing  at  so  early  an  age  would 
have  presented  almost  unconquerable  difficulties  in  the 
pursuits  of  science  and  literature ;  but  familiar  with  books 
from  his  earliest  years,  the  spirited  boy  only  applied  with 
the  more  diligence  to  his  studies.  The  result  may  be  given 
in  the  words  of  the  late  SAMUEL  L.  KXAPP,  who  knew  him 
intimately,  and  was  well  qualified  by  his  own  talents  and 
attainments  to  appreciate  those  of  his  young  friend. 

"  His  acquirements  at  this  early  age,  in  the  languages 
and  all  the  branches  of  knowledge,  ordinary  and  extraor 
dinary,  are  superior  to  those  of  any  young  man  of  the 
same  age  I  ever  met  with.  There  is  a  strength  and  matu 
rity  about  his  mind  rarely  to  be  found  in  those  who  have 
experienced  no  such  deprivation  as  he  has  been  visited 
with.  His  criticisms  have  a  sagacity  and  shrewdness  un- 
equaled  by  those  who  were  critics  before  he  was  born. 
He  acquires  a  language  with  the  most  astonishing  facility. 
No  one  I  ever  knew  could  do  it  with  the  same  readiness, 


MEMOIR.  7 

except  the  late  learned  orientalist,  GEORGE  BETHUNE  ENG 
LISH.  NACK  unites  in  a  degree  truly  astonishing,  those  two 
seemingly  inconsistent  qualities,  restlessness  and  persever 
ance.  He  reads  and  writes,  and  does  all  things  as  though 
he  had  just  breathed  the  Delphic  vapor,  and  perseveres  as 
though  he  were  chained  to  the  spot  by  some  talismanic 
power. 

"  In  a  few  years  our  gifted  author  will  find  things  chang 
ing  around  him,  and  his  youthful  labors  will  become  the 
foundation  stones  of  a  goodly  edifice,  in  the  fashioning  of 
which  he  has  learned  the  skill  of  a  literary  architect,  and 
acquired  the  strength  to  raise  a  temple  of  imperishable 
fame  for  his  own  and  his  country's  glory." 

Such  were  the  impressions  and  expectations  that  JAMES 
N"ACK  inspired  in  his  boyhood,  even  in  the  veterans  of 
literature ;  and  a  boy  of  such  extraordinary  promise  must 
have  been  remarkable  under  any  circumstances.  But  when 
we  consider  the  difficulties  he  had  to  surmount,  we  must 
no  less  admire  his  energy  and  perseverance  than  his  talents. 
As  General  WETMORE  eloquently  remarks,  "  had  not  JAMES 
NACK  been  deeply  imbued  by  nature  with  the  vision  and 
the  faculty  divine — had  he  not  been  impelled  by  an  irre 
sistible  love  and  a  feeling  for  his  art,  he  never  could  have 
overcome  the  numerous  and  seemingly  insurmountable 
difficulties  which  met  him  at  every  turn  in  the  opening 
of  his  career.  Cut  off  in  early  youth  from  that  familiar 
general  intercourse  which  sweetens  the  days  of  childhood 
and  smoothes  the  path  to  knowledge,  his  sole  reliance  was 
on  his  own  natural  resources ;  an  intellect  vigorous  and 
clear,  an  imagination  vivid  and  far-reaching,  and  a  resolu 
tion  that  could  meet  and  subdue  the  irreparable  calamity 
of  his  life." 

On  the  publication  of  a  volume  of  his  poems,  written 


8  MEMOIR. 

between  the  fourteenth  and  seventeenth  years  ot  his  age 
it  was  hailed  with  wonder  and  admiration.  One  of  our 
leading  reviews,  in  alluding  to  that  volume,  sayo,  "  For 
precocity  of  talent  and  attainment  under  circumstances 
peculiai'ly  unpropitious,  JAMES  NACK  is  an  intellectual 
wonder.  As  far  as  known,  Christendom  contains  nothing 
comparable  to  him.  All  things  considered,  CHATTERTOX  did 
not  equal  him.  He  has  written  much,  and  many  of  his 
productions  are  of  a  high  order ;  all  of  them  are  marked 
with  the  rich  and  fervid  outpourings  of  genius.  For  inten 
sity  and  all  that  gives  to  poetry  its  highest  character,  they 
are  certainly  not  surpassed,  we  think  not  equaled  by  any 
of  the  early  productions  of  Lord  BYEOX,  andthose  youthful 
productions  of  the  noble  bard  have  never  received  the 
commendations  they  merit.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of 
this  gifted  young  American,  that  wrhen  matured  by  time 
and  finished  by  labor,  some  of  his  future  efforts  in  song 
may  equal  the  happiest  of  those  that  have  immortalized 
the  author  of  Childe  Harold." 

Among  those  who  took  an  active  interest  in  the  young 
poet  was  a  distinguished  member  of  the  New  York  Bar, 
who  engaged  him  in  his  office,  and  placed  an  extensive  and 
well-selected  library  at  his  disposal.  "  This  situation," 
says  Colonel  KXAPP,  "  opened  a  new  world  to  him.  He 
reveled  in  fresh  delights,  devoured  books  upon  poetry, 
history,  philosophy,  fiction,  mathematics,  politics,  ethics, 
criticism,  and  theology.  He  wrote  as  well  as  read  on 
many  of  these  subjects ;  formed  a  thousand  theories,  and 
tore  them  up  root  and  branch  for  new  creations." 

On  the  departure  of  this  gentleman  for  Europe,  young 
NACK  formed  an  engagement  with  another  of  his  early 
friends,  Mr.  ASTEN,  at  that  time  Clerk  of  the  City  and 
County  of  New  York,  who  had  been  among  the  first  to 


MEMOIR.  9 

notice  and  appreciate  his  abilities.  He  soon  mastered  the 
intricacies  of  the  various  duties  required  of  him ;  and  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  fulfilled  them  has  been  well  de 
scribed  by  General  WETMORE  :  "  The  dry  details  of  legal 
papers,  the  monotonous  toil  of  searching  the  musty  records 
of  the  courts,  however  uncongenial  to  the  poetic  tempera 
ment,  have  no  power  to  turn  him  from  the  path  of  duty. 
He  enters  thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of  his  various  labors, 
and  discharges  them  with  a  zeal  and  ability  which  proba 
bly  few  could  equal,  and  which  has  secured  for  him  not 
only  the  confidence  of  his  successive  employers,  but  the 
warm  regard  and  esteem  of  the  members  of  the  Bar." 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1838,  Mr.  NACK  was  united 
to  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  had  been  attached  almost 
from  her  childhood ;  and  who,  it  would  appear,  from  more 
than  one  beautiful  tribute  to  her  worth,  which  may  rank 
among  the  happiest  efforts  of  his  pen,  must  have  been 
every  way  worthy  of  his  choice. 

The  poetry  of  JAMES  NACK  is  characterized  by  a  versifi 
cation  remarkably  flowing,  easy,  and  musical — an  unaffected 
and  felicitous  diction — and  a  depth  and  tenderness  of  feel 
ing  for  which  he  may  be  eminently  considered  the  poet  of 
the  affections. 

His  personal  qualities  could  not  be  more  accurately  de 
scribed  than  in  the  words  of  General  WETMOKE  :  "  Mr. 
NACK'S  habits  are  regular  and  retired.  The  domestic 
attractions  of  home  have  a  greater  charm  for  him  than  the 
allurements  of  the  world.  The  amusements  and  excite 
ments  of  society  can  rarely  win  him  from  his  books  or  his 
desk.  He  is  averse  to  mixed  company,  reserved  in  the 
presence  of  strangers,  but  familiar  and  playful  in  the  circle 
of  his  select  friends ;  of  strong  passions ;  quick  to  resent, 

but  quicker  to  forgive ;  prone  to  act  upon  the  the  impulse 
1* 


10  MEMOIR. 

of  the  moment ;  of  a  disposition  gentle,  generous,  and  sin 
cere.  He  is  fond  of  children,  and  successful  in  engaging 
their  affections.  With  such  qualities  of  mind  and  heart, 
it  is  not  surprising  that  he  secures  the  warm  regard  of 
those  who  have  the  happiness  of  his  acquaintance,  nor  that 
he  is  most  esteemed  by  those  who  know  him  best." 

In  conclusion,  the  writer  cannot  forbear  availing  himself 
of  this  opportunity  to  express  his  own  high  appreciation 
of  the  worth  and  genius  of  one  whom  it  has  for  many  years 
been  his  privilege  to  number  among  his  most  intimate  and 
most  esteemed  friends. 

GEO.  P.  MORRIS. 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  RING. 


ROMANCE  OF  THE  RING. 


PART    FIRST. 

ALL  night  he  rode  till  the  break  of  day, 

ISTor  paused  he  at  any  place ; 
The  red  blood  ran  on  his  booted  heel, 

And  the  white  foam  flew  in  his  face ; 
The  sides  of  his  courser  heaved  amain, 

The  sides  of  his  coal-black  steed, 
And  the  sweat  ran  down,  and  the  smoke  curled  up 

Yet  slackened  he  not  his  speed. 
The  horse  and  the  rider,  away,  away ! 

Shot  on  like  the  arrow's  whirr, 
Till  the  hand  no  longer  could  hold  the  rein, 

Nor  the  heel  could  plunge  the  spur  ; 
His  lirnbs  ail  droop'd  like  a  dead  man's  limbs, 

But  his  steed  did  not  pause  at  all : 
Away,  away !  was  the  rider  whirled — 

'T  was  Avondrous  he  did  not  fall ! 
His  finger  was  girt  by  a  little  ring  1 

He  look'd  upon  it  by  chance, 


14  THE    ROMANCE   OF   THE    K^v>. 

And,  with  a  cry  you  might  hear  afar, 

He  sprang  from  his  drowsy  trance ; 
He  seized  the  reins — from  his  courser's  flanks 

Hot  blood  o'er  the  rowels  splash'd ; 
"  Away  !  away !  "  he  shouted  aloud, 

And  away,  and  away,  he  dash'd. 
Away,  and  away,  for  many  an  hour, 

He  darted,  for  many  a  mile ; 
The  courser  smok'd  as  all  on  a  flame, 

And  the  blood  in  his  veins  did  boil. 
Away,  away !  still  he  dashes  on, 

As  a  sinner  would  fly  from  death, 
Till  the  courser's  bounds  grew  less  and  less, 

And  he  labors  to  heave  a  breath ; 
"  Away !  away !  "  still  the  cavalier  cried, 

Still  spurring  the  coal-black  steed  ; 
But  the  shout  too  faint,  and  the  gore-clogg'd  spurs, 

Too  blunt  to  provoke  his  speed. 
Yet  onward  he  toil'd,  till  a  broad  deep  stream 

On  a  sudden  check' d  the  path  : 
The  cavalier  sprung  from  the  steed  to  the  ground, 

And  he  stamp'd  on  the  ground  in  wrath ; 
He  stamp'd  on  the  ground,  and  he  beat  his  brow, — 

One  glance  at  the  ring  he  cast : 
Oh  !  then  might  it  seem  o'er  his  features  fierce 

The  scowl  of  a  demon  past ! 
Again  on  his  coal-black  steed  he  sprung, 

And  never  a  word  he  said, 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   RING.  15 

But  the  sweat  from  his  courser's  mane  lie  wrung, 

And  patted  his  bending  head  ; 
The  courser  neigh'd — with  a  sudden  bound 

His  rider  through  air  he  bore  : 
He  shot  to  the  other  side  of  the  stream, 

Then  fell  to  arise  no  more. 


PART    SECOND. 

THE  little  blades  of  the  tender  grass 

The  ground  in  soft  verdure  hide, 
And  the  leafy  boughs  of  clustering  trees 

Are  nodding  on  every  side  ; 
And  on  every  bough  of  every  tree 

The  birds  in  bright  plumage  glance, 
While  to  the  beat  of  their  tiny  feet, 

The  leaves  all  around  them  dance, 
And  every  bird  doth  most  sweetly  sing, 

And  right  blithsome  is  their  song, 
And  the  breeze  attempers  its  voice  writh  theirs, 

As  softly  it  steals  along ; 
But  a  sweeter  sound  than  the  song  of  bird, 

Or  the  murmur  of  passing  air — 
Oh !  a  sweeter  song  by  far  may  be  heard — 

'T  is  the  voice  of  a  lady  fair. 
That  lady  is  fair  as  lady  may  be, 

Too  fair  for  this  world  of  ours; 


16  THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   RING. 

As  a  blessed  vision  she  might  appear, 

Come  down  from  the  heavenly  bowers. 
A  young  boy  near  her,  holds  by  the  rein 

A  palfrey  as  white  as  snow, 
For  never  a  speck  of  other  hue 

On  a  hair  of  his  can  you  show. 
His  mane  is  long  as  a  lion's  mane, 

His  tail  to  the  ground  is  rolled ; 
And  he  is  bedight  in  caparisons  rich, 

All  gemmed  with  silver  and  gold. 
The  lady  signs,  and  the  little  page  hastes 

With  the  palfrey  to  her  side ; 
She  lays  her  hand  on  the  palfrey's  neck, 

As  if  she  would  mount  and  ride ; 
But  there  is  a  rustle  among  the  leaves — 

She  pauses  to  know  whence  it  be, 
And  a  man  comes  forth,  and  reels  to  her  feet, 

And  kneels  him  down  on  his  knee — 
He  kneels  him  down  on  his  knee,  and  signs 

The  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  breast, 
While  the  lady  scanneth  his  form  and  face, 

And  the  garb  in  which  he  is  drest. 
His  form  seems  faint  as  a  helpless  babe's, 

Yet  in  sooth  't  is  a  noble  one ; 
His  face  drops  sweat,  as  the  sky  drops  rain, 

And  is  red  as  the  setting  sun. 
His  garb  is  rich,  but  in  many  a  place 

Is  rent,  as  in  furious  toil ; 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   THE    KING.  17 

He  is  booted  and  spurred  as  should  cavalier  be, 

And  his  heels  have  a  bloody  soil. 
The  stranger's  bosom  heaveth  amain, 

As  be  kneels  to  the  damsel  fair ; 
His  lips  are  too  parch' d  to  shape  a  word, 

And  he  hath  not  a  breath  to  spare. 
"  O  stranger,  what  art  thou  ?  and  why  art  thou  here  ? 

And  why  dost  thou  kneel  on  thy  knee  ? 
Arise  from  thy  knee,  and  stand  on  thy  feet, 

And  tell  me  what  wouldst  thou  with  me  ?  " 
Again  the  stranger  essay'd  to  speak, 

But  essay'd  to  speak  in  vain, 
For  his  lips  were  parched  as  the  lips  of  death, 

And  his  breath  still  heaved  amain : 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  he  stamped  on  the  ground, 

And  his  teeth  in  fury  gnashed, 
And  he  bit  his  lip  till  the  blood  trickled  down, 

And  his  eyes  like  a  demon's  flashed : 
And  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  palfrey  white, 

As  if  upon  it  to  spring ; 
The  lady's  eye  to  his  finger  he  turned, 

Which  was  girt  with  a  little  ring ; 
He  pointed  then  to  the  bloody  spurs, 

And  then  to  a  distant  way, 
And  then  again  to  the  palfrey  white, 

But  never  a  word  could  he  say. 
"  Beshrew  thy  meaning,"  the  lady  said, 

"  Art  thou  such  an  ungallant  knight, 


18  THE    KOMANCE   OF   THE   RING. 

A  lady  must  tread  on  a  weary  foot, 

"While  thou  ridest  her  palfrey  white  ?  " 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  girdle  then, 

And  a  heavy  purse  he  drew, 
And  that  heavy  purse  all  filled  with  gold, 

To  the  lady's  page  he  threw ; 
And  a  golden  chain,  with  a  diamond  bright, 

He  tore  from  his  breast  in  haste, 
And  that  chain  of  gold,  and  that  jewel  rich, 

In  the  lady's  hand  he  placed. 
Then  to  the  palfrey  he  turned  again ; 

But  his  arm  the  lady  caught : 
"  Nay,  keep  thy  jewels,  and  keep  thy  gold, 

The  palfrey  is  thine  unbought ; 
And  I  would  for  thy  sake,  thou  weary  knight, 

I  could  give  thee  a  braver  steed ; 
But  here  thou  must  take  thy  rest  awhile, 

For  rest  thou  surely  dost  need. " 
No  word  he  said,  but  he  shook  his  head, 

And  again  he  pointed  away ; 
But  she  held  him  the  faster  by  the  arm — 

"  Now  thou  shalt  not  say  me  nay!" 
She  looked  in  his  face  with  her  eyes  so  blue, 

So  beautiful,  and  so  soft, 
And  the  stranger  felt  his  dark  eyes  melt. 

As  they  had  not  melted  oft. 
A  light  breeze  played,  and  her  coal-black  curls 

Were  wafted  against  his  cheek, 


THE    KOMAKCE    OF   THE   KING.  19 

And  the  delicate  touch  thrilled  his  every  vein, 

And  rendered  his  purpose  weak ; 
But  when  she  leaned  her  head,  and  he  felt 

Her  cheek  imparting  its  glow 
To  his  own,  and  her  breath  to  blend  with  his 

"Was  sent  in  a  rosy  flow, 
What  wonder  that  by  her  charms,  such  sway 

In  that  moment  was  o'er  him  won, 
That  could  he  have  spoken,  he  could  but  say, 

"  Sweet  lady,  thy  will  be  done !" 
Upon  a  soft  bed  of  thornless  flowers. 

The  lady  bade  him  recline, 
And  the  little  page  went  at  her  sign,  and  brought 

In  each  hand  a  goblet  of  wine. 
"  Now  pledge  me,  sir  knight,"  said  the  lady  fair, 

And  he  raised  the  brim  to  his  lip ; 
But  he  suddenly  dashed  his  cup  to  the  ground, 

As  hers  she  began  to  sip ; 
For  the  little  ring  which  his  finger  girt, 

Again  attracted  his  eye, 
And  he  started  np  from  the  bed  of  flowers, 

With  a  loud  and  fearful  cry ; 
She  seized  his  arm,  he  flung  her  away — 

He  sprung  on  the  palfrey  white, 
And,  like  the  lightning's  vanishing  flash, 

He  shot  from  the  lady's  sight. 


20  THE   KOMANCE   OF   THE   RING. 


PART   THIRD. 

THE  moon  is  throned  in  the  lovely  blue, 

Which  melting  upon  the  eye, 
Allures  the  wish  to  be  ushered  there, 

Reclined  in  its  depths  to  lie  • 
As  yet  one  visible  star  alone 

The  azure  realm  divides, 
Which  burns  with  a  bright,  though  trembling  light, 

As  before  its  queen  it  glides ; 
On  the  dew-gemm'd  leaves,  on  the  placid  waves, 

The  showering  moon-beams  play — 
A  beauty  floats  o'er  all  earth  and  sky, 

That  would  shame  the  glory  of  day. 
But  there  cannot  be  a  thing  of  life 

Beholding  this  lovely  scene, 
Or  its  very  breath  could  now  be  heard 

Disturbing  the  silence  serene. 
But  see ;  yon  river,  so  calm  till  now, 

Is  stirred,  but  not  by  the  gale ; 
And  gliding  slowly  towards  the  shore 

Some  object  appears  to  sail; 
But  what  can  it  be  ?  to  the  distant  eye, 

Which  a  glance  upon  it  would  throw, 
'T  would  seem  the  image  of  yon  pale  cloud, 

Or  a  drifting  heap  of  snow. 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   THE    RING.  21 

It  sinks,  it  rises,  it  floats  along 

Till  upon  the  shore  't  is  thrown, 
And  there  it  lies,  as  immovable 

As  a  thing  to  life  unknown. 
Now  all  is  calm,  till  from  yonder  wood 

A  cavalier  suddenly  starts, 
On  a  steed,  which  despite  his  voice  and  rein, 

Right  on  to  the  river  darts ; 
But  he  suddenly  paused  as  motionless, 

As  he  had  no  power  to  stir, 
Nor  even  to  breathe,  nor  seemed  he  to  feel 

The  plunge  of  his  rider's  spur. 
The  cavalier  thought  he  heard  a  sigh ; 

He  eagerly  looked  around ; 
On  a  human  form  he  cast  his  eye 

He  hastily  sprung  to  the  ground : 
He  raised  the  form,  and  he  threw  aside 

The  folds  of  the  snow- white  veil, 
And  the  moonlight  flowed,  in  a  silver  tide, 

On  features  lovely  and  pale. 
The  cavalier  starting  dropped  the  form, 

As  the  features  met  his  sight, 
'Twas  the  very  lady  from  whom,  but  now, 

He  had  taken  the  palfrey  white ; 
But  again  he  raised  her  in  his  arms, 

And  he  laid  her  upon  his  breast ; 
He  wrung  the  brine  from  her  coal-black  hair 

And  his  lips  to  hers  he  prest 


22  THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   RING. 

There  was  no  warmth,  nor  a  sign  of  life, 

But  upon  those  lips  alone ; 
And  perhaps  the  warmth  those  lips  bestowed, 

They  but  received  from  his  own. 
In  vain  he  sought  to  recall  her  to  life ; 

So,  that  some  aid  he  might  find, 
Upon  the  palfrey  he  laid  her  form, 

And  he  mounted  himself  behind. 
The  steed,  which  had  almost  breathless  stood, 

Neigh'd  with  a  terrible  sound : 
With  the  knight  and  the  lady  into  the  waves 

He  dash'd,  with  a  headlong  bound. 
The  cavalier's  efforts  little  avail'd 

The  maid  or  himself  to  sustain — 
The  waves  closed  o'er  him,  and  gushed  in  his  ears, 

And  whirled  his  bewildered  brain. 
He  raised  his  head,  and  opened  his  eye, 

How  strange  was  the  scene  he  met : 
He  lay  in  a  lordly  hall  unharm'd, 

Nor  one  spot  of  his  robe  was  wet, 
In  the  midst  of  the  hall  he  saw  a  throne, 

With  a  sceptre  and  diadem ; 
A  lady  entered,  shrined  in  a  veil, 

Which  burn'd  with  many  a  gem — 
She  took  the  cavalier  by  the  hand, 

And  aside  she  flung  her  veil ; 
Fair  as  the  blush  of  morn  was  the  cheek, 

Which  late  he  had  seen  so  pale ; 


THE    EOMANCE    OF   THE   RING.  23 

And  her  raven  ringlets  down  her  neck 

In  wild  luxuriance  danced, 
And  her  eyes — her  sweet  blue  eyes — on  his 

In  melting  tenderness  glanced. 
She  led  him  toward  the  throne,  and  sign'd 

As  there  he  should  take  his  seat ; 
But  he  waved  his  hand,  and  shook  his  head, 

And  kneel' d  him  down  at  her  feet ; 
And  as  he  knelt,  emotions  he  felt 

Which  were  far  too  sweet  to  speak ; 
Till,  glancing  his  eye  toward  his  hand, 

He  started  up  with  a  shriek : 
"  Lady,  lady,  detain  me  not ! 

For  a  deed  is  to  be  done ; 
In  beauty's  cause  must  this  sword  be  drawn 

By  the  dawn  of  to-morrow's  sun ! " 
"  In  beauty's  cause  ?     I  fear  me,  sir  knight, 

For  beauty  small  is  thy  care ; 
And  little,  methinks,  thy  courtesy, 

If  thou  wilt  not  hear  my  prayer. 
ISTow  hear  me,  sir  knight,  by  royal  birthright 

A  wide  dominion  I  sway, 
But  a  bold  usurper  has  risen  in  might, 

To  make  my  kingdom  his  prey. 
Sir  knight,  I  am  a  defenceless  maid, 

And  well  I  may  wish  to  call 
A  knight  so  noble  and  brave  as  thou, 

Friend,  champion,  lover,  and  all ! 


24  THE   ROMANCE   OF   THE    RING. 

Yes,  lover,  sir  knight,  for  wouldst  thou  but  stay 

Till  to-morrow,  and  meet  my  foe, 
My  heart,  my  hand,  my  kingdom,  my  all, 

As  thy  guerdon  would  I  bestow!" 
She  threw  her  white  arms  around  his  knees, 

As  she  knelt  at  the  cavalier's  feet ; 
And  she  looked  in  his  face — he  could  ill  resist 

That  look  so  imploring  and  sweet ! 
But  he  cast  one  glance  upon  his  ring, 

And  her  clasp  he  then  unbound ; 
And  he  said — but  with  a  faltering  voice — 

As  he  raised  her  from  the  ground — 
"  This  moment  I  must  hasten  away, 

In  the  cause  of  my  lady  love ; 
But  when  her  rescue  shall  be  achieved, 

So  bless  me  the  saints  above, 
As  I  shall  return,  with  all  speed  I  may, 

This  arm  to  devote  for  thee ; 
I  swear  me  thy  friend  and  thy  champion, 

Though  thy  lover  I  may  not  be ! " 
"  One  moment,  sir  knight,  let  me  know  the  claim 

Of  her  who  calls  thee  away; 
If  that  claim  is  just,  I  will  pardon  thee, 

"  Nor  longer  demand  thy  stay." 
The  knight  was  impatient  to  be  gone, 

But  was  check'd  by  her  tender  hold, 
And  he  had  not  the  heart  to  spurn  her  off, 

So  briefly  his  tale  he  told. 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   KING.  25 

PART  FOURTH. 
THE  CAVALIER'S  TALE. 

I  LOVED,  and  was  belov'd  the  same : 

Her  young  heart  had  not  learn'd 
The  world's  dissembling  forms ;  her  flame 

Pure  and  unhidden  burned : 
But  noticed  by  her  father's  eye, 

It  soon  alarmed  his  pride : 
For  his  were  birth  and  grandeur  high, 

Which  fate  to  me  denied. 
Compelled  to  part,  with  broken  heart, 

I  rush'd  the  war  to  seek ; 
But  first  we  both  exchanged  an  oath, 

The  dearest  love  could  speak. 
The  ring,  which  girds  my  finger  now, 

I  bade  her  cherish  ever, 
As  a  memorial  of  our  vow, 

To  love  and  love  forever. 
I  sought  the  field,  I  forced  to  yield 

Full  many  a  Paynim  foe ; 
Methinks  her  prayers  have  been  my  shield : 

No  arm  could  lay  me  low. 
And  now  I  had  returned  in  fame 

My  native  land  to  hail, 
When  there  a  page  to  meet  me  came, 

Who  told  a  fearful  tale ; 
2 


26  THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   RING. 

The  every  word  convulsed  my  frame, 

My  cheek  turned  ashy  pale. 
He  told  me  that  my  true-love  dear 

Was  left  an  orphan  maid, 
Beneath  a  guardian's  care  severe, 

Who  dared  her  rights  invade ; 
Who  with  usurping  grasp  detained 

Her  father's  gold  and  land ; 
Nor  his  presumption  there  restrained, 

But  dared  to  claim  her  hand ; 
And  e'en  had  sworn,  if  by  her  scorn 

His  suit  were  still  denied, 
Upon  the  third  return  of  morn 

Should  ruder  means  be  tried. 
To-morrow  is  the  destin'd  day, 

But  we  ere  then  shall  meet : 
I  trust  this  arm  the  wretch  shall  lay 

Before  my  lady's  feet. 
To  shield  her  from  his  brutal  rage, 

The  arai  of  love  to  bring, 
She  sent  in  haste  her  faithful  page, 

To  seek  me  with  this  ring — 
The  ring,  which  when  our  vows  were  made, 

I  on  her  finger  placed : 
But,  lady,  I'm  too  long  delay'd — 

To  save  her  I  must  haste ! 
But  for  her  sake,  thou  lady  bright, 

My  heart  would  own  thy  spell ; 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   THE    EING.  27 

But  for  her  sake  I  could  not  slight 

Thy  charms  angelical; 
But  for  her  sake,  not  thus  I  might, 

Have  power  to  say,  farewell ! 


PART    FIFTH. 

ONE  moment  the  cavalier  waits  reply, 

On  his  ear  no  answer  falls ; 
He  looks  around,  and  amazed  he  stands 

By  his  lady's  castle  walls. 
He  looked  around,  but  he  looked  in  vain 

For  the  lovely  stranger-queen ; 
.Again  his  gaze  he  fixed  in  amaze, 

On  the  unexpected  scene ; 
And  as  he  looked  on  the  well-known  towers, 

On  his  mind  recollections  rushed 
Of  his  childhood  bliss,  and  his  boyhood  love, 

Till  the  tears  unbidden  gushed : 
But  he  swept  the  glimmering  from  his  eye, 

And  looking  to  heaven  he  said, 
"  Saint  Mary  be  thank'd,  by  whatever  means 

So  sudden  the  space  has  fled, 
Which  parted  me  from  my  lady's  foe ; 

Saint  Mary,  arm  me  this  morn !  " 
His  sword  clash' d  on  the  vibrating  shield, 

And  loudly  he  blew  the  horn. 


28  THE   KOMAISTCE    OF   THE   KING. 

Every  portal  expanded  wide, 

But  he  saw  no  mortal  near ; 
Onward  he  strode  from  hall  to  hall, 

But  he  found  no  foe  appear. 
Onward  he  strode,  till  checked  by  a  gate, 

Which  was  locked  and  barred  as  yet ; 
As  it  yielded  to  his  gauntlet's  stroke. 

A  throng  he  suddenly  met ; 
They  rushed  upon  him,  he  knew  not  whence ; 

But  from  their  rude  grasp  he  sprung 
With  such  violent  force,  that  by  the  shock 

They  all  to  the  ground  were  flung. 
Again  they  rose,  and  on  every  side 

Their  weapons  the  knight  assailed. 
He  fought  full  well,  and  he  fought  full  long, 

But  at  last  his  foes  prevailed  : 
Still,  though  by  their  mimbers  overpowered, 

He  struggled  as  best  he  could, 
Till  the  ring  from  his  finger  dropped  to  earth, 

And  ah1  in  amazement  stood ; 
For  the  ring,  expanding,  girt  the  hah1 

In  a  circle  of  buraing  flame, 
And  contracting,  around  the  cavalier's  foes, 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came, 
Till  all  were  wither'd  in  its  embrace, 

But  harmless  it  pass'd  the  knight: 
In  a  moment,  the  ring,  and  a  heap  of  dust, 

Alone  remain'd  to  his  sight. 


THE    ROMANCE    OF   THE   KING.  29 

The  ring  on  his  finger  lie  replaced, 

And  he  found  his  strength  regained 
That  moment ;  again  from  hall  to  hall, 

Uninjured  and  unrestrained, 
He  past,  till  again  his  onward  way 

Was  checked  by  a  massy  gate ; 
In  vain  his  efforts  to  burst  the  lock, 

Or  shake  one  bar  of  the  grate ; 
A  laugh  of  derision  shook  the  walls : 

Through  the  bars  he  could  see  appear 
A  being  of  lofty  size,  whose  lip 

Was  curled  with  a  fiend-like  sneer, 
As  he  pointed  to  a  lady  pale, 

Who  lifeless  lay  at  his  feet : 
The  cavalier  struggled  with  frantic  rage, 

Impatient  the  wretch  to  meet ; 
But  he  raged  in  vain,  till  he  thought  he  heard 

The  musical  whispering 
Of  a  sweet  tender  voice,  which  said, 

"  Now  bethink  thee  of  thy  ring ! " 
Obeying  the  voice,  he  instantly 

The  ring  from  his.  finger  drew ; 
Again  expanding,  its  fiery  wreath 

O'er  the  massy  bars  it  threw : 
They  dropp'd  to  the  ground  like  molten  lead ; 

Onward  rushed  the  eager  knight, 
But  he  found  not  the  lady  nor  his  foe, 

Who  had  bome  her  from  his  sight. 


30  THE    ROMANCE    OF   THE    RING. 

The  little  ring  he  snatched  from  the  ground 

And  on  his  finger  replaced, 
He  clash' d  his  shield  again  and  again, 

Till  the  foe  stepped  forth  in  haste ; 
One  scowl  they  exchanged,  but  paused  not  for  speech. 

At  the  clash  of  each  mighty  stroke 
Their  weapons  quivered,  until  at  last 

The  sword  of  the  cavalier  broke ; 
He  flung  it  aside,  he  seized  his  foe, 

As  to  grapple  his  life  away ; 
They  struggled  as  every  nerve  would  burst, 

Till  sinking  together,  they 
Exhausted  upon  the  ground  reclined, 

Yet  struggling  in  vain  to  rise ; 
And  oft  as  their  glances  met,  the  rage 

Of  a  demon  flashed  in  their  eyes. 
•    Hark !  O  hark !  it  seems  that  all  earth 

Upon  its  foundation  rocks, 
"While  ten  thousand  thunders  tear  the  skies 

In  loud  and  repeated  shocks. 
The  tottering  roof,  the  falling  walls, 

The  knight  and  the  foe  behold ; 
But  each  still  writhes  in  the  other's  arms, 

Which  grasp  him  in  desperate  fold. 
The  roof  now  bursts  with  an  awful  crash, 

And  before  their  shuddering  eye 
Appeared  unfolded  a  sheet  of  fire, 

Enwrapping  all  earth  and  sky ! 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   KING.  31 

A  shriek  was  heard — the  loftiest  tower 

That  moment  in  ruin  crashed, 
And  disclosed  a  maid,  who  stood  on  high, 

"Where  destruction  around  her  flashed ; 
Her  white  robes  dishevelled  o'er  her  hung, 

And  waved  in  the  blazing  air, 
Which  danced  around  her  shuddering  limbs, 

And  wreath1  d  in  her  raven  hair. 
The  cavalier  would  have  rushed  to  her  aid, 

But  he  could  not  burst  the  grasp 
Of  his  foe,  which  so  closely  pressed  him  now, 

That  he  scarce  had  power  to  gasp. 
The  cavalier  raged  at  the  savage  grin, 

And  the  glance  of  malicious  scorn ; 
But  the  more  his  rage,  the  more  the  mirth 

On  the  hated  features  worn. 
"  Now  by  this  ring,"  said  the  cavalier, 

"  If  near  me  be  any  power 
Propitious  to  faithful  love  like  mine, 

Its  favor  I  claim  this  hour." 
Instantly  in  a  whirlwind  of  flame 

The  ground  was  asunder  rent, 
And  shrieking  down  the  burning  abyss 

His  foe  from  his  sight  was  sent. 
The  knight  look'd  up  where  the  lady  stood ; 

A  tower  trembled  o'er  her  head ; 
The  scorching  flame  and  the  smothering  smoke, 

More  thickly  around  her  spread ; 


32  THE   KOMANCE    OF   THE   KING. 

The  ruins  rolled  from  his  climbing  foot, 

As  he  rush'd  through  the  smoke  and  blaze : 
In  a  moment  the  lady  sunk  in  his  arms, 

Shrieking  with  fear  and  amaze. 
He  looks  below,  but  the  awful  depth 

Forbids  the  desperate  spring. 
Nor  can  he  on  the  ruins  descend, 

While  his  arms  to  the  lady  cling. 
He  looks  above,  O  merciful  heaven ! 

The  tower  now  bends  to  its  fall ! 
The  knight  in  despair,  could  scarce  breathe  a  prayer, 

On  the  guardian  power  to  call. 
He  heard  a  crash — he  averted  his  eye — 

Nearer  he  drew  to  his  breast 
The  lady,  as  he  said,  "  "VTe  must  die, 

But  dying  with  thee  I  am  blest ! " 


PART    SIXTH. 

THE  knight  looked  around — he  could  ill  expect 

Such  a  scene  would  his  eye  await : 
Unharmed  the  lady  lay  at  his  feet, 

By  his  father's  castle-gate. 
The  vassals  clasped  his  knees,  and  his  name 

Repeated  in  shouts  of  joy; 
And  forth  the  old  warrior  tottering  came 

To  welcome  his  gallant  boy. 


THE   KOMANCE   OF   THE   RING.  33 

As  soon  as  the  cavalier  was  released 

From  the  fond  paternal  embrace, 
He  raised  the  lady,  who  lay  at  his  feet, 

And  eagerly  looked  in  her  face ; 
He  started  away,  he  clenched  his  hands, 

He  gnashed  his  teeth  in  despair ; 
"  Is  it  thou  I  have  saved  from  those  fatal  towers — 

While  she — has  she  perish' d  there  ?  " 
She  opened  her  eyes,  she  sprung  to  his  neck — 

"  My  love,  and  art  thou  restored  ? 
The  dangers  I  've  met,  I  shall  not  regret, 

Since  redeemed  by  my  true-love's  sword." 
Such  voice,  such  look,  he  had  heard  and  seen 

In  the  joy  of  his  youthful  day; 
But  the  features  are  those  of  the  stranger-queen, 

Who  tempted  him  on  his  way. 
He  looks  again,  and  he  cannot  tell 

If  it  be  his  true-love  or  not ; 
For,  perhaps  in  his  absence,  some  trait  of  hers 

Might  either  be  changed  or  forgot. 
Raising  his  eye,  he  saw  on  the  sky 

A  halo  of  dazzling  light, 
And  in  a  car,  with  many  a  star, 

Bespangled,  a  being  bright 
Was  seen  to  glide,  till  it  paused  beside 

The  wondering  lady  and  knight. 
From  her  dazzling  face,  when  it  hover'd  near, 

They  hid  their  eyes  on  the  ground  : 

2* 


34  THE    ROMANCE    OF   THE   KING. 

Her  accents  floated  into  their  ear, 

In  soft  and  musical  sound : 
"  Arise,  sir  knight,  she  bids  thee  arise, 

Who  has  well  approved  thy  worth ; 
Arise,  fair  maid,  she  bids  thee  arise, 

Who  has  loved  thee  from  thy  birth. 
Nay,  lady,  shun  not  my  presence  thus, 

As  it  threatened  danger  nigh ; 
Thy  dearest  welcome  I  should  command, 

Thy  Guardian  Genius  am  I. 
From  thy  earliest  hour  it  has  been  my  care 

To  shield  thee  from  every  ill, 
And  my  guardian  wing  shall  o'ershadow  thee 

To  thy  latest  moment  still. 
Sir  knight,  't  was  I  who  the  token  brought 

To  tell  thee  thy  lady's  need ; 
'T  was  I  who  wing'd  thy  impetuous  flight 

Upon  an  unearthly  steed ; 
'T  was  I  who  assumed  this  lady's  charms, 

The  fairest  that  can  be  worn, 
Surpassing  all  by  thy  memory  sketch'd 

Of  the  dawn  of  her  beauty's  morn ; 
And  thus  I  met  thee  in  beauty's  bower, 

And  in  regal  grandeur's  hall, 
Where  the  smile  of  love,  nor  ambition's  power, 

Thy  heart  could  change  or  inthrall. 
Through  many  perils  hast  thou  been  led, 

But  thy  soul  its  strength  approved ; 


THE   ROMANCE    OF   THE   RING.  35 

Many  temptations  around  thee  spread, 

But  thy  faith  was  still  unmoved. 
Thine  is  a  heart  that  can  never  be 

Estranged  from  constancy's  reign, 
And  to  such  a  heart  the  hand  is  due 

Which  else  thou  shouldst  ne'er  obtain. 
Here  is  the  ring,  restore  it,  sir  knight, 

To  the  hand  I  now  link  to  thine ; 
Of  your  heart's  dearest  oath,  let  it  be  to  you  both 

For  ever  and  ever  the  sign. 
The  ring  was  to  thee  a  talisman 

To  save  thee  all  danger  through ; 
This  ring  on  thy  hand,  and  truth  in  thy  soul, 

No  evil  could  thee  subdue. 
And  should  the  spell  from  the  ring  depart, 

When  danger  again  is  known, 
Little  the  need  of  thy  faithful  heart 

For  other  aid  than  its  own. 
Ye  faithful  pair,  it  shall  be  my  care 

That  blessings  shall  both  await ; 
But  if  at  times  ye  are  doomed  to  bear 

The  scowl  of  a  darker  fate, 
Ye  still  may  triumph  o'er  its  control, 

If  ye  still  to  each  other  cling ; 
For  evil  can  never  enslave  the  soul 

Encircled  by  CONSTANCY'S  RING. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  VENGEANCE. 
A  DRAMA. 

IN   THREE   ACTS. 


Who  sins  against  another 
Sins  most  against  himself. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

THE  STBAXGEB. 
COUXT  ERXALT>O. 
REGINALD. 
THE  PEIXCE. 


TIIEEESA. 
ISABELLE. 
JULIA. 


SCENE — Spain.    TIME — Twenty -four  Hours. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  VENGEANCE. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE   1. — A  neglected  path,  leading  to  the  ruins  of  a 
cattle. 

Enter  THERESA  with  MANUEL  approaching  the  ruins. 

THERESA.  Lean  on  my  arm. 

MANUEL.  Nay !  I  can  go  no  further. 

Here  let  us  rest  a  moment. 

[Throwing  himself  languidly  upon  the  ground. 

THERESA.  Sweetest  rest 

Descend  upon  thee ! — never  mayst  thou  know 
The  weariness  of  heart.  [Advancing  to  the  ruins. 

Ah !  here  indeed 

Should  be  our  resting-place.     But  all  is  changed ! 
Are  these  my  halls  of  pride  ?  is  this  my  home 
Of  joy?  the  home  of  desolation  now 
And  ruin ;  here  the  sole  inhabitants, 
As  in  my  bosom !     Hail !  ye  fallen  towers ! 


40  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE, 

Hail !  image  of  my  fortunes !  in  your  look 
Is  silent  sympathy !     A  thousand  welcomes — 
If  ye  could  but  restore  him,  at  whose  side 
Smiling  I  last  approached  you,  never  more 
To  smile  again  ; — but  ye  are  now  no  place 
For  him,  who  as  my  jealous  ear  informed  me, 
Resuming  rank  and  fortune,  glads  his  pride, 
Forgetting  the  forsaken.     Yet  once  more, 
Ye  cherished  halls,  will  I  traverse  the  scenes 
Of  happiness  departed.     Come,  my  child, 
To  thy  inheritance! 

MAXCEL.    [Starting  up  as  if  from  sleep.]    What  says 
my  mother  ? 

THERESA.  These  ruins  may  afford  a  safer  shelter 
To  thy  repose. 

MAXUEL.  Watched  by  a  mother's  eye 

Is  safety  everywhere.  [Exeunt. 


SCEXE  2. — A  room  in  the  castle  rudely  fitted  up  as  a 
hermitage;  a  dim  lamp  on  the  table.  The  back 
ground  is  in  complete  darkness. 

Enter  THERESA  and  MAXTJEL. 

THERESA.  At  last  we  have  tracked  the  light ;  but  even 

here 

Is  desolation's  home,  or — Heaven  forbid — 
Perhaps  the  den  of  guilt. 


THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  41 

MANUEL.  Guilt  dwells  not  here : — 

Behold  that  type  of  heaven ! 

[Pointing  to  a  crucifix  on  the  table. 

THERESA.  Some  anchorite 

Has  centered  here  his  world.     Would  he  were  present ; 
But  surely  he  will  pardon  to  a  mother 
The  liberty  her  child's  relief  compels. 
Here,  rest  thee  on  this  pallet. 

MANUEL.  I  will  pray  first 

As  at  my  own  dear  home, — would  we  were  there : — 
My  Heavenly  Father !  bless  my  dearest  mother, 
And  bless  my  earthly  father  and  restore  him 
To  her  and  me. 

\A  dark  figure  emerges  from  the  gloom,  glides  to 
the  child)  and  exclaims,  Rise ! 

THERESA.  Heaven  defend  my  child ! 

STRANGER.  Is  that  thy  mother,  boy  ? 

MANUEL.  Yes — do  not  harm  her. 

STRANGER.  Didst  thou  not  call  upon  her,  and  thy  father, 
His  blessing  whom  I  must  not  name  ? 

MANUEL.  His  blessing 

Abide  upon  us  all. 

STRANGER.  A  goodly  jest ! 

Hell  hears  and  shouts  derision !     What !  His  blessing 
On  me  ! — Perdition !  that  a  foolish  babe 
Should  mock  me  thus ! 

THERESA.  Mercy,  thou  terrible  man ! 

STRANGER.  Man! 


42  THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

THEEESA.  Awful  being,  whatsoe'er  thou  art, 

Give  me  my  child,  and  let  us  go  in  peace. 

STRANGER.  And  where  is  peace  ? — No  matter, — 't  is  no 

place 
For  me.     Come  hither,  boy. 

MANUEL.  Oh !  save  me,  mother, 

His  eyes  are  burning  fire ! 

STRANGER.  Thou  dost  not  know 

The  evil  from  the  good,  or  thou  wouldst  cling 
To  me,  not  her.     She  save  thee  ?     I  can  save  thee 
From  many  a  curse  that  she  may  else  be  thanked  for. 
Fool!  never  bless  thy  parents, — they  of  all 
Have  cursed  thee  most ; — thou  hast  not  words  to  answer 
Their  curse,  but  I  will  help  thee.     Come,  I  '11  teach  thee 
A  proper  orison. 

THERESA.  We  must  not  hear 

Such  words.     Come,  we  must  hence. 

STRANGER.  Thou  trembling  fool, 

What  power  can  bear  you  hence  against  my  will  ? 
Stir,  if  you  can. 

THERESA.  Be  thou  of  earth  or  hell ! 

STRANGER.  Say  that  thou  fearest  me  not. 

THERESA.  I  cannot  say  it, 

For  terrible  thou  art.     Yet  in  my  soul 
Is  something  holy  that  should  awe  thee, — yes, 
Shall  awe  thee. 

STRANGER.  Name  this  wonder,  and  if  heaven 

And  earth  shake  at  the  sound — I — I  shall  smile. 


THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  43 

THERESA.  A  mother's  love ! 

STRANGER.  A  fable,  a  fair  word, 

Repeated  for  the  beauty  of  its  music, 
And  not  its  truth.     There  never  was  a  mother, 
Ho\ve'er  she  romanced  of  a  mother's  love, 
Would  do  the  only  deed  that  should  express  it. 

THERESA.  I  would — Heaven  knows  I  would ! 

STRANGER.  But  I  know  better. 

How  beautiful  thy  child — how  sweet  his  face 
Of  eloquent  persuasion  !  purity 
His  brow  has  moulded  of  the  snows  of  heaven, 
Which  even  affection,  with  her  lips  of  fire, 
Trembles  to  touch,  lest  it  should  melt. 

THERESA.  Thy  voice 

Is  music  now. 

STRANGER.  A  spirit  not  of  earth, 

Insphered  in  the  dark  beauty  of  his  eyes, 
Beams  glorious  as  the  angel  in  the  sun. 

THERESA.  Say  on — my  ear  will  never  tire. 

STRANGER.  [  Catching  MANUEL  in  his  arms.]  Fair  boy — 
Nay,  struggle  not — I  have  no  will  to  harm  thee. 
Little  my  kindness  to  the  sons  of  men, 
Yet  there  is  something  in  thy  innocent  face 
Sways  me  beyond  my  wont.     I  '11  render  thee 
The  best  of  blessings,  better,  better  far 
Than  parents  ever  give. 

THERESA.  And  that  is — 

STRANGER.  Death !          [Aiming  a  dagger  at  the  child 


44  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

THEEESA.  Death!    Shield  us  heavenly  Father!    spare, 

oh  spare  him ! 

Kill  me — I  care  not — but  my  child !  my  child ! 
Let  him  but  live,  and  I  will  kiss  the  dasher 

'  OO 

That  drinks  my  life-blood. 

MANUEL.  I  will  die  first,  mother ! 

STRANGER.  Behold  a  mother's  love !      Thou  bidst  him 

live? 

THERESA.    Oh  yes ! 

STRANGER.  So  be  it  then ;  and  I  disclaim 

The  moment's  mercy  that  was  as  a  ripple 
On  ocean's  stilled  infinitude ;  all  sinks 
Again  to  a  stern  deadness.     Far  from  me 
Be  it  to  snatch  a  mortal  from  the  curse 
Of  life. 
THERESA.  My  child,  my  love,  again  I  have 

thee! 
STRANGER.  Now  for  a  parent's  part. 

[Snatching  the  boy  again. 
THERESA.  Forbear!  forbear! 

Wouldst  thou  recall  thy  mercy  ? 

STRANGER.  'T  was  recalled 

When  I  forbore  to  strike.     Thou  bidst  him  live — 
Well,  so  do  I, — but  if  it  be  in  love 
Better  by  far  were  hate.     Live,  boy,  yes,  live ! 
But  to  what  end  ?     To  forfeit  innocence, 
The  sunlight  of  thy  soul,  which  thou  must  bury 
In  darkness,  crushing  darkness !     Live !  for  what  ? 


THE   SPIKIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  45 

To  have  the  roses  of  thy  young  affections 
Devoured  by  adders,  gnawing  through  thy  heart 
A  path  for  desolation. — Live !  for  what  ? 
To  toil,  to  weep,  to  groan, — to  kiss  the  rod 
Thou  canst  not  fly  nor  brave,  and  scarce  canst  bear ; 
To  find  in  all  that  by  the  name  of  joy 
Provokes  thy  toilsome  chase,  a  tiresome  curse 
That  better  had  been  fled — the  milk  of  kindness 
Turn  into  gall  and  bitterness — abhor 
All  that  surrounds  thee ! — and  thyself  the  most ! 
Live — wish  for  death — yet  live,  and  dare  not  die, 
Held  back  by  cowrard  conscience.     Live  for  this ! 
'T  is  all  that  mortals  live  for ! 

MANUEL.  Better  die ! 

THERESA.  And  leave  thy  mother  ? 

MANUEL.  No — for  thy  dear  sake 

Alike  to  me  were  welcome  life  or  death. 

STBANGEB.  I  tell  thee,  woman,  thou  art  most  unworthy 
The  fondness  of  this  fool,  or  thou  wouldst  rather 
Guide  than  withhold  my  arm  against  his  life — 
For  were  he  now  to  die,  canst  thou  believe 
But  that  his  sinless  spirit,  bursting  forth 
On  cherub  wings,  would  rush  to  the  abode 
Of  bliss  eternal,  which,  continuing  here, 
He  may  forever  forfeit? 

THEEESA.  God  of  mercy! 

Save  me  from  madness !  close  my  ear  against 
Such  horrible  suggestions. 


46  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

STBANGEE.  Mark  me,  woman ! 

Be  what  I  may,  I  once  have  been  a  child, 
As  innocent  and  blest  as  now  is  thine, 
As  near  as  he  to  heaven.    What  am  I  now ! — 
Oh  then  why  died  I  not ! — why  came  not  then 
Some  pitying  angel,  from  a  world  to  snatch  me 
Where  only  guilt  and  horror  lay  before  me ! — 
Why  dost  thou  weep  ? 

MANUEL.  For  thee! 

[The  STBANGEE  turns  away  in  deep  agitation. 

THEBESA.  Oh  may  those  tears, 

Like  dews  of  heaven  descending  on  his  heart, 
Melt  it  to  penitence  that  heralds  peace ! 

MANUEL.  Poor  man,  we  '11  pray  for  thee. 

STEANGEE.  The  angelic  host 

Might  kneel  in  vain — the  eternal  doom  is  fixed — 
So  be  it — I  will  bear. — But  thou,  sweet  boy, 
Thou  who  hast  wept  for  me  who  never  claimed 
A  tear, — I  must  reward  thee.  [  Offering  to  stab  him. 

TIIEEESA.  Help !  oh  God ! 

Mercy — my  child — oh  spare  him ! 

[REGINALD  enters  with  his  sword  drawn,  snatches 
the  child,  and  restores  him  to  TIIEEESA. 

REGINALD.  Hither  turn 

Thy  weapon — but  perhaps  thy  coward  arm 
Copes  but  with  babes  and  women. 

STEANGEE.  Calm  thee,  youth ; 

My  war  is  with  the  soul. 


THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  47 

MANUEL.  \To  REGINALD.]  Nay,  gentle  sir, 
"We  pray  thee  harm  him  not. 

THEBESA.  We  but  implore  thee 

To  bear  us  hence  in  safety. 

REGINALD.  "We  again 

Must  meet.    I  '11  find  thee  here  ? 

STRANGER.  I  shah1  be  found 

Where  least  thou  canst  expect. — It  may  be,  child, 
"We  shall  not  meet  again.    Thou  wilt  remember 
This  hour,  and  glory  in  thy  moment's  power 
To  soften  adamant ;  but  pray  forget  not 
It  was  but  for  a  moment.     I  am  now 
Myself  again,  and  hating  thee,  as  all 
Mankind,  I  say  alike  to  them  and  thee — 
Live,  and  my  curse  upon  you ! 

THERESA.  Let  us  fly  1 

REGINALD.  Lady,  where  wouldst  thou  go  ? 

THERESA.  To  Count  Ernaldo. 

REGINALD.  [Starting^  Ernaldo  ! 

STRANGER.  Hell!  Ernaldo  ! — let  me  see — 

It  is — I  did  not  think  another  drop 
Could  fall  on  my  black  ocean — yes,  that  face 
Though  changed,  is  not  forgotten.    Didst  thou  say 
Ernaldo  ?     Tell  me  what  thou  art  to  him  ? 

THERESA.  His  wife. 

STRANGER.  And  this  ? 

THERESA.  His  child. 

STRANGER.  And  I  have  cursed  him 


48  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

REGINALD.  I  know  Ernaldo  well,  the  best  of  men ; 
His  wife  has  long  been  dead. 

THEBESA.  Alas,  thy  words 

Confirm  my  fears ;  I  have  been  so  forgotten 
That  he  could  wed  another. 

STRANGER.  Didst  thou  call  him 

The  best  of  men  ?    I  've  done  him  much  injustice 
If  he  deserves  that  name. 

REGINALD.  He  well  deserves  it, 

For  by  him,  though  a  stranger  to  his  blood, 
Have  I  been  reared  from  earliest  infancy 
With  all  a  father's  care. 

STRANGER.  Hadst  thou  no  claim 

Upon  it  ? 

REGINALD.  None. 

STRANGER.  Thy  kindred  ? 

REGINALD.  They  have  never 

Been  known  to  him. 

STRANGER.  Nor  thee  ? 

REGINALD.  Thou  hast  no  right 

To  question  me. 

STRANGER.  A  stranger — even  his  kindred 

Unknown — Ernaldo  generous — I  know  better — 
Those  lineaments,  and  even  that  voice — t  'is  so — 
It  must  be  so — yet  what  shall  that  avail  me — 
Oh  glorious  thought !  the  heaven  of  my  revenge 
Opens  at  last  before  me  ! 

REGINALD.  With  your  pleasure, 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  49 

Lady,  't  were  best  to  go.    These  are  but  ravings 
Not  worth  our  hearing.     Come. 

STRANGER.  Against  my  will 

You  cannot. 

REGINALD.  That 's  to  prove. 

STRANGER.  One  moment,  lady, 

Then,  if  thou  wilt,  depart. 

[He  discovers  his  face  to  THERESA,  who  shrieks 
and  falls  insensible. 

REGINALD.  What  hast  thou  done  ? 

MANUEL.  My  mother !  oh,  my  mother ! 

REGINALD.  Hush !  she  lives. 

THERESA.  Where  is  he  ? 

STRANGER.  Here,  Theresa.     Nay,  be  calm. 

Breathe  not  my  name,  not  even  to  thy  child. 
My  friend,  excuse  the  hint,  but  Ave  can  spare 
Your  further  company. 

THERESA.  Kind  sir,  forgive 

The  trouble  we  have  given  you.     Leave  us  with  him. 

MANUEL.  But  mother,  art  thou  safe  ? 

STRANGER.  Before  we  part, 

I  charge  thee  never  to  inform  Ernaldo 
What  thou  hast  witnessed. 

REGINALD.  Why  should  his  wife  and  child 

Be  kept  from  him  ? 

STRANGER.  His  wife  and  child  ? — Ah,  yes ! 

Thou  speakest  of  these  f    Far  be  it  from  my  purpose ! 

I  shall  myself  at  the  expedient  time 
3 


50  THE   SPIEIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

Conduct  them  to  him,  and  that  time  is  near, 
Nearer  than  he  may  wish ;  till  then  I  claim 
Thy  silence. 

REGINALD.  Lady  ? 

THERESA.  Yes,  I  supplicate  thee 

Do  all  that  he  requires. 

REGINALD.  Well,  for  thy  sake [Exit. 

THERESA.  [After  apause^\  And  is  it  thus — 

STRANGER.  Be  silent.     Go  before  me. 

MANUEL.  Not  to  that  place  of  darkness. 

STRANGER.  Canst  thou  fear  ? 

MANUEL.  I  fear  but  for  my  mother. 

THERESA.  [As  they  retire  and  disappear  in  the  dark 
ness.]  No,  my  child, 
Fear  nothing :  we  are  safe. 

[The  STRANGER  bursts  into  a  terrible  laugh;  THE 
RESA  shrieks.     Scene  changes. 

SCENE  3. — A  hall  in  the  palace  of  COUNT  ERNALDO.    Enter 
ERNALDO  and  ISABELLE. 

ERNALDO.  The  time  has  come,  my  daughter,  to  unfold 
The  dearest  purpose  of  my  secret  soul, 
"Which  should  have  been  discovered  long  before, 
But  that  I  dread  thy  answer. 

ISABELLE.  Am  I  not 

Thy  child,  whose  duty  is  to  do  thy  will  ? 
Or  am  I  of  the  weak  and  selfish  nature 


THE    SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  51 

That  ever  shrinks  from  duty  ? 

ERXALDO.                    I  acknowledge 
Never  had  father  child  more  dutiful 
And  excellent,  yet  for  that  very  cause 
I  dare  not  name  the  wish  that  must  be  granted : 
For  should  it  prove  unwelcome 

ISABELLE.  There  is  nothing 

Unwelcome  to  me  in  the  way  of  duty. 
I  have  observed  at  times  that  something  weighs 
Upon  thy  mind ;  I  should  be  proud,  my  father, 
If  destined  to  remove  it. 

ERXALDO.  So  thou  art. 

ISABELLE.  And  how  ? 

ERXALDO.  I  know  thee  prudent,  I  am  sure ; 

Thou  hast  not  acted  like  those  silly  girls, 
Who  plight  their  hearts  and  hands  without  the  knowledge 
Of  those  who  gave  them  life. 

ISABELLE.  It  does  not  please  me 

To  be  suspected. 

ERXALDO.                    Nor  do  I  suspect  thee ; 
No,  I  am  confident  thy  hand  and  heart 
Are  free,  or  I  should  know  it 

ISABELLE.  But  my  father 

ERXALDO.  What  are  thy  thoughts  of  Reginald  ? 

ISABELLE.  The  question 

Is  strange. 

ERXALDO.  But  needs  an  answer. 

ISABELLE.  I  suppose  him 


52  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

Conscious  of  what  he  owes,  and  duly  grateful. 
ERSTALDO.  A  noble  youth,  is  it  not  ? 

ISABELLE.  It  is  not  likely 

He  should  be  so  in  birth,  and  for  his  spirit, 
As  yet  it  is  not  proved. 

ERXALDO.                    Thou  art  deceived ; 
He  is  of  noble  bearing,  and  his  birth 

ISABELLE.  It  is  unknown  to  all. 

ERXALDO.  True — very  true — 

Yet  how  can  it  be  base  ?     Sure  his  demeanor 
Forbids  such  thought. 

ISABELLE.  I  think  it  would  be  easy 

To  find  a  worthier  theme. 

ERXALDO.  Then  Reginald 

Is  one  thou  dost  not  like  ? 

ISABELLE.  I  neither  care  to  like 

Or  to  dislike  him,  more  than  others 
Of  our  domestics. 

ERXALDO.  Our  domestics,  child  ? 

I  shall  be  angry ;  never  dare  apply 
That  name  to  Reginald. 

ISABELLE.  I  have  no  will 

To  speak  or  hear  of  him. 

ERNALDO.  And  when  thou  dost, 

Be  it  as  he  were  my  son. 

ISABELLE.  Heavens !  how  I  scorn    * 

Thus  to  degrade  my  father ! 

ERXALDO.  Yes,  my  son. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  53 

And  such  of  right  he  shall  become  by  thee ; 
He  loves  thee  well 

ISABELLE.  How !  the  audacious  slave ! 

.<• 
And  dares  he 

EKXALDO.  Never  is  his  passion  breathed 

In  words,  but  it  hath  visible  utterance 
In  all  his  looks  and  actions. 

ISABELLE.  Is  it  thus 

That  he  repays  thee  ?     Make  him  know  himself, 
And  turn  him  forth,  the  outcast  that  he  was, 
Before  thy  bounty  gave  the  daily  bread 
And  nightly  shelter  he  so  ill  deserves. 

ERXALDO.  Thou  art  the  least  deserving  of  the  two, 
Thou  disobedient  girl ! — Stir  not  my  anger, 
Or  tremble !  for  by  heaven  I  '11  cast  thee  forth 
From  the  paternal  door,  to  meet  the  fate 
Thou  wiliest  his,  and  care  not  shouldst  thou  sink 
In  guilt  and  infamy. 

ISABELLE.  Let  the  worst  come, 

Guilt  or  dishonor  never  can  approach  me, 
The  not  unworthy  scion  of  a  house 
They  never  have  polluted. 

EKNA.LDO.  [  With  vehemence.]  Would  to  God ! 

ISABELLE.  Sir? 

ER^ALDO.  I  forget,  speak  we  of  Reginald. 

He  must  be  thine ;  if  willingly  received, 
The  better — with  him  be  my  blessing  thine ; 
But  shouldst  thou  still  rebel — woe  on  thy  head! 


54  THE   SPIRIT   OF    VENGEANCE. 

Thine  be  thy  father's  curse,  and  none  the  less 
My  will  shall  be  obeyed. 

ISABELLE.  No  curse  less  welcome 

Than  Reginald.    Ernaldo !  what !  a  child 
Of  thy  illustrious  house,  and  link  myself 
To  him,  some  peasant's  brat !  the  shame  were  worse 
Than  death  a  thousand  times  ! 

ERNALDO.  Thou  speakest  this 

In  ignorance ;  but  I  am  too  indulgent 
To  parley  thus.    I  should  employ  the  rights 
That  fathers  claim  from  Heaven. 

ISABELLE.  Have  they  a  right 

To  make  their  children  wretched  ? 

ERNALDO.  Say  no  more, 

For  my  resolve  is  fixed. 

ISABELLE.  And  so  is  mine. 

Unbidden  I  shall  fly  the  house,  exposed 
To  poverty,  to  death,  I  care  not  what, 
But  Reginald  shall  never  call  me  his. 
Now  let  thy  anger  work. 

ERNALDO.  [After  a  moment's  thoughtfulness.]   It  shall 

not  yet : 

I  will  not  go  to  the  extremity 
Till  other  means  all  fail.    I  have  been  harsh 
Beyond  my  wont,  but  I  am  tasked  to  this 
By  fate  imperative. — My  child,  no  peace 
Can  ever  enter  in  thy  father's  mind, 
No  joy  on  earth,  or  hope  of  joy  in  heaven, 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  55 

Till  thou  dost  grant  me  this. 

ISABELLE.  I  am  amazed ! 

Let  me  but  know  how  this  may  be — 

EENALDO.  I  dare  not. 

ISABELLE.  I  yield  not  then  to  artful  supplications 
More  than  to  savage  threats. 

EEXALDO.  [Kneeling.]  Could  I  abase  me 
To  this  in  artifice  ? — Behold,  I  kneel — 
Thy  father  kneels,  thy  father  calls  upon  thee 
To  save  him — save  him  from  the  hell  within  him, 
And  that  which  yawns  beneath  him ! 

ISABELLE.  And  all  this 

By  being  Reginald's  ? 

EEXALDO.  Oh  yes! 

ISABELLE.  I  marvel 

Why  thou  shouldst  be  so  earnest  in  an  object 
That  offers  nothing  visible,  except 
Dishonor  to  our  house.     If  thou  ai't  swayed 
By  reason  and  by  honor,  give  me  proof, 
And  I  submit.     Why  shouldst  thou  hide  thy  motives 
Unless  dishonorable  ?  and  if  so, 
That  attitude  becomes  thee,  and  is  one 
I  would  not  bid  thee  change,  yet  have  no  pleasure 
To  see  my  father  in.     Excuse  me,  sir.  [Exit. 

EEXALDO.  And  so  the  only  means  of  reparation 
Is  thrust  beyond  my  reach !     Am  I  to  blame ; 
Who  placed  that  means  beyond  me? — not  myself; 
Witness  how  diligently  I  pursued  it, 


56  THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

How  low  I  cast  myself, — and  all  in  vain ! 

What  other  means  appears  ?    There  yet  is  one, 

But  to  accomplish  this  I  must  expose  me 

To  every  slave's  contempt,  must  die  in  shame, 

The  gazing-stock  of  fools,  bequeath  my  children 

My  infamy,  their  sole  inheritance, 

And  cast  them  naked,  houseless,  friendless,  breadless, 

To  perish  in  the  pitiless  world.     Can  Heaven 

Command  me  this  ? 

Enter  REGINALD. 

ERNALDO.  How  sir!  it  is  not  well 

To  burst  upon  my  privacy. 

REGINALD.  My  lord 

ERXALDO.  But  let  that  pass,  for  in  a  welcome  hour 
Thou  comest ;  I  but  now  had  need  of  thee 
To  speak  of  earnest  matters. 

REGINALD.  To  that  end 

I  came,  my  lord. 

ERNALDO.  Dost  thou  anticipate 

My  question  ? 

REGINALD.  No,  my  lord ;  be  what  it  may, 

My  mind  will  be  unfit  to  ponder  on  it 
Till  thou  hast  answered  mine. 

ERNALDO.  [Throwing  himself  carelessly  into  a  seat.] 
I  'm  all  attention. 

REGINALD.  Thy  part  to  me,  my  lord,  was  ever  one 


THE    SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  57 

The  best  of  fathers  well  might  imitate, 
And  gratitude  has  throned  thee  in  my  heart 
A  very  idol  there. 

EKNALDO.  So  thou  hast  need 

Of  added  favors  ?  but  the  way  thou  talkest 
Is  much  amiss.     Seek  not  to  wind  about  me 
By  harping  on  the  past,  but  let  thy  wish 
Be  frankly  named,  it  shall  be  frankly  granted 

REGINALD.    How    startled,   how  indignant,   and    how 

anxious, 

Is  the  idolater,  when  told  the  thing 
His  fancy  made  a  god,  is  but  a  reptile 
Ignoble  and  detestable !     In  pity 
Redeem  me  from  such  doubts,  and  prove  thou  art  not 
Unworthy  of  my  homage ! 

EKNALDO.  [Starting  up  trembling  with  fury.~\  Wretch! 

what  devil 

Hath  sent  thee  for  my  torture — speak — by  Heaven — 
By  hell — thou  wilt  not — speak — or  I  will  tear  thee, 
Yes,  villain !  I  will  tear  thee  limb  from  limb, 
And  fling  the  mangled  fragments  to  the  whirlwinds — 
Speak ! — who  hath  told  thee  this  ? 

REGINALD.  [  Who  has  gazed  upon  him  with  astonish 
ment  and  horror,  sinks  against  a  pillar,  exclaiming 
in  acute  anguish.~\  I  have  not  erred  then ! 

ERNALDO.  Betrayed  at  last — and  death — and  shame ! — 
but  no — 

It  cannot  be ! — 't  is  false ! — curse  on  thy  look 
3* 


58  THE   SPIEIT   OP   VENGEANCE. 

Of  doubt — 't  is  false,  I  tell  thee ! — I  will  swear  it — 
Yes,  I  am  innocent — look  at  these  hands — 
Avaunt,  thou  grinning  fiend ! — it  is  not  blood — 
It  is  not  blood,  I  tell  thee ! — ha !  confusion ! 
One  spot  escaped !     Hell  heave  thy  waves  of  fire 
To  cleanse  away  this  stain. 

REGINALD.  [Aside.]  My  worst  of  fears 
Reached  not  a  crime  so  horrid ;  't  is  apparent 
He  sought  to  slay  his  wife,  and  thinks  her  death 
Accomplished.  [As  he  is  retiring,  ERNALDO  rushes  to  him. 

ERNALDO.  Hold,  there — stir  not  on  thy  life ! 

Better  that  thou  wert  damned  than  breathe  a  word 
Of  this  vile  lie  to  others.    I  repeat 
'T  is  false,  and  challenge  proof. 

REGINALD.  Oh  that  I  had  none ! 

ERNALDO.  None — none — I  tell  thee  none.  The  only  eye 
Of  witness  near,  wTas  sealed. 

REGINALD.  And  whose  ? 

ERNALDO.  [Recollecting  himself I\  My  friend, 
I  have  been  mad,  and  raved  I  know  not  what. 
Remember  not  my  Avords.     Come,  let  us  speak 
Of  something  near  thy  interest. 

REGINALD.  This  of  all 

Is  nearest. 

ERNALDO.  What  ? 

REGINALD.  Behold ! 

Enter  THERESA  and  MANUEL. 


THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  59 

ERXALDO.  All  hope  is  over ! 

REGINALD.  Not  so.     She  lives  ;  thou  canst  repair  her 

wrongs, 
And  all  may  yet  be  well. 

ERNALDO.  Repair  her  wrongs ! 

What  power  of  earth  can  do  it  ? 

REGINALD.  Thine,  at  least 

In  part. 

EE>TALDO.  Thou  canst  lay  down  what  terras  thou  wilt, 
For  I  am  in  thy  power ;  but  I  'm  deceived 
If  thou  wilt  take  ungenerous  advantage 
Of  utter  helplessness.    "Wretch  as  I  am, 
That  I  am  not  all  evil  thou  hast  proof 
In  what  I  uncompelled  have  done  for  thee. 
Thus  I  implore  thee,  suppliant  at  thy  feet, 
By  all  that 's  noble  in  thee,  spare  my  life, 
And  fame,  the  life  of  life/ 

REGIXALD.  Thy  crime,  though  great, 

Is  not  of  those  that  peril  life. 

EKNALDO.  Thou  say  it  ? 

Thou  speak  thus  of  the  wrong  that  I  have  done  thee  ? 

REGINALD.  No  wrong  have  I  received  from  thee,  except 
That  when  I  see  a  fellow-creature  wronged, 
I  feel  the  wrong  as  mine. 

ER:NALDO.  Either  thy  soul 

Is  far  beneath  a  man's  or  far  above  it ! 
Canst  thou  forgive  me  ? — me,  who — ah !  a  thought 
Flashes  upon  me.     Lady,  hast  thou  met 


60  THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

This  youth  before  ? 

[Awaiting  her  answer  with  breathless  anxiety. 

THEKESA.  Yes — once. 

ERNALDO.  [Recoils^  but  recovers  himself.]  And  when? 

THERESA.  But  now. 

ERNALDO.    Hope  conies  again !     What  knowest  thou 
of  this  lady?  [To  REGINALD. 

REGINALD.  That  she  is  thine,  and  this  thy  child. 

ERNALDO.  'Tis  well —  t 

'T  is  excellent !     Come,  I  am  merry  now, 
And  I  could  shout  for  joy.     But  thou  art  sure 
She  is  my  wife  ? 

REGINALD.  Canst  thou  deny  it  ? 

ERNALDO,  Truly 

Not  I — far  be  it  from  my  wish. — Thou  never 
Hast  seen  her  till  this  day  ? 

REGINALD.  Never,  my  lord. 

ERNALDO.  Song,  dance,  and  frolic,  come !    "We'll  startle 

earth 

With  peals  of  joy  !     Thy  hand,  and  thine  fair  wife ! 
Come  hither,  little  imp.  [MANUEL  approaches.'}  Come — 

Hence !   avaunt ! 
Let  me  not  see  that  face !  't  is  his  ! 

REGINALD.  My  lord ! 

ERNALDO.  A  sickness  comes  upon  me.   Prithee  leave  me, 
I  wish  to  be  alone. 

REGINALD.  Where  shall  I  usher 

The  lady  and  her  child  ? 


THE    SPIRIT    OF    VENGEANCE.  61 

ERNALDO.  I  care  not  whither, 

So  from  my  sight ! 

REGINALD.  I  brought  them  here,  my  lord, 

To  see  them  righted ;  and  betide  what  may, 
I  stir  not  from  them  till  to  that  effect 
I  have  thy  promise. 

ERNALDO.  I  shall  grant  the  lady 

All  for  herself  and  child  she  may  desire. 
Trouble  me  not — why  linger? — do  ye  question 
My  promise  ?    I  will  swear  to  it,  and  as  witness 
I  call  on  heaven. 

TUB  STRANGER.  [Appearing  suddenly^]  Hell  comes  un 
called  ! 

ERNALDO.  Oh  God !  [falls  lifeless, 

CURTAIN  DROPS. 


ACT  H. 

SCENE  1. — An  apartment  in  ERNALDO'S  palace.    ERNAL- 
DO  is  discovered  reclining  on  a  sofa. 

ERNALDO.  I  laid  me  down  in  health,  and  I  awake 
In  death ! — 't  is  the  same  place,  and  yet  I  know  not 
How  this  may  be  on  earth,  for  it  is  said 
Death  sends  the  spirit  hence,  and  I  am  dead, 
Most  surely  I  am  dead — yet  is  within  me 


62  THE   SPIRIT    OF    VENGEANCE. 

The  conscious  spirit.     "Was  it  all  a  fable 

Of  hell  and  heaven  ?  and  doth  the  spirit  still 

Abide  within  the  body  till  dissolved, 

And  hover  o'er  it  then  ?     'T  is  said  the  souls 

Of  sinful  men  are  dragged  to  hell — and  I 

Have  been  a  fearful  sinner — yet  where  am  I  ? 

Perhaps  't  Avas  false — ah  no !  the  flames  of  hell 

Arise — they  scorch  me  now — they  glow — they  burn — 

Oh  fire  ! — Is  there  no  hope  ? — and  am  I  lost 

Beyond  repeal  ?     I  have  been  told  the  damned 

Can  shape  no  prayer  for  mercy — Can  I  pray  ? — 

Father !  be  merciful !     Oh  God !  oh  God ! 

I  've  prayed ! — then  I  am  safe ! — I  may  repent 

And  be  forgiven  yet ! 

What !  where  am  I  ? 

Alive,  and  yet  on  earth  ! — 't  was  but  a  dream  ! — 
What  must  those  horrors  be  to  the  lost  wretches 
To  whom  they  are  no  dream ! 

A  VOICE.  What  thine  must  be ! 

[EKNALDO,  shuddering,  falls  on  his  face.  After  a 
moment  lie  slowly  raises  his  head,  and  looks 
fearfully  around. 

ER^ALDO.  I  was  deceived ;  guilty  imagination 
Gave  audible  voice  to  my  tormentor,  conscience. 
'T  was  an  appalling  sound,  the  very  tone 
Of  him — whom  I  have  silenced — 

Am  I  certain 
His  spirit  is  not  here  ? — it  is — it  is — 


THE   SPIKIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  63 

Mine  cowers  before  it — oh !  an  icy  thrill 

Darts  through  my  shrinking  veins — my  blood  is  clotted — 

The  atmosphere  of  death  is  pressed  around  me, 

And  human  breath  forsakes  me ! 

Hark !  he  comes 
Embodied!  \Tlie  PBINCE  enters. 

Yes,  I  '11  meet  thee,  for  thy  look 
Will  kill,  and  so  release  me. 

PEIXCE.  How,  my  friend ! 

What  hast  thou  done  against  me,  that  my  presence 
Appals  thee  ? 

EB:K ALDO.  Is  it  thou,  my  Prince  ? — but  look, 

I  dare  not — look  around  us — is  he  gone  ? 
Are  we  alone  ? 

PBINCE.  We  are.    But  may  I  know 

Whose  presence  awed  thee  ? 

EKXALDO.  None.     I  had  a  dream, 

And  am  but  now  awakened  ;  but  thy  presence 
My  gracious  Prince,  would  banish  the  remembrance 
Of  real  agonies,  so  well  it  may 
What  but  a  dream  inflicted.    Deign  accept 
My  heart's  best  welcome. 

PBINCE.  Thanks ;  I  should  be  happy 

To  wait  on  your  fair  daughter. 

EE^ALDO.  Let  me  hasten 

To  announce  the  honor.  \Exit. 

PBINCE.  There  's  a  courtier  for  you, 

Plotting  and  smiling.     For  his  daughter's  sake, 


64  THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

If  possible,  I  shall  not  when  I  crush 
His  treason,  crush  him  with  it. 


Enter  REGINALD. 

PKINCE.  Gentle  youth, 

A  word. 

REGINALD.  Your  pleasure ! 

PKINCE.  I  have  well  observed 

That  thou  art  loved  and  trusted  by  Ernaldo 
As  if  thou  wert  his  son. 

REGINALD.  Sir,  these  are  matters 

Concerning  but  ourselves ;  and  so  excuse  me 
From  troubling  strangers  with  them. 
PKINCE.  Nay,  my  friend, 

I  only  wished  to  say  the  Count's  affection 
Has  fettered  thine  to  him. 

REGINALD.  It  is  a  question 

The  Count  has  never  asked,  and  why  should  others  ? 

PKIXCE.  'T  is  with  no  idle  notion  that  I  ask  it. 
It  much  imports  to  know  if  thy  affection 
Is  such  to  Count  Ernaldo,  I  may  trust  thee 
With  my  designs  to  save  him  from  a  peril 
Inevitable  else. 

REGINALD.  Believe  me,  then, 

At  thy  command.     If  peril  threats  Ernaldo, 
All  I  can  do  in  honor  to  avert  it 
I  am  prepared  to  do. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  65 

PRINCE.  Now  speak  sincerely; 

Has  he  not  trusted  thee  with  some  design 
That  he  would  hide  from  me  ? 

REGINALD.  Dost  thou  imagine 

That  I  am  fit  for  the  participation 
Of  deeds  that  shun  the  light  ?     I  can  inform  thee 
Ernaldo  thinks  not  so. 

PRINCE.  And  canst  thou  swear  it  ? 

REGINALD.  Thou  hast  my  word,  sir ;  if  it  is  mistrusted, 
Does  that  entitle  thee  to  claim  my  oath  ? 
But  to  the  point.     What  the  impending  danger 
To  be  averted  from  the  Count  ? 

PRINCE.  I  ask 

Thy  promise  to  be  silent. 

REGINALD.  Well,  't  is  given. 

PRINCE.  From  strongest  evidence  I  have  assurance 
He  is  engaged  in  a  disloyal  cause, 
That  must  be  overthrown  before,  matured, 
It  takes  the  open  field,  for  then  its  fall 
Must  be  Ernaldo's  fall ;  but  if  in  silence 
We  can  defeat  its  end,  he  may  escape 
Unnoticed ;  for  this  object  it  is  needful 
That  thou  shouldst  wind  into  his  confidence, 
And  win  me  added  proofs,  that  when  Ernaldo 
Confronts  them  may  confound  him. 

REGINALD.  Shame  confound  me 

If  e'er  I  stoop  to  this !     What !     I  betray 
My  generous  friend !     I,  who  disdain  to  harm 


66  THE   SPIRIT   OF  VEXGEAIfCE. 

My  deadliest  foe,  except  in  open  strife ! 
Hence,  else  Emaldo's  very  roof  burst  down 
To  crush  his  treacherous  guest ! 

PRINCE.  Thou  peasant  slave ! 

How  dares  thy  touch  profane  me !  [Flings  him  off. 

REGINALD.  Slave  indeed! 

[Drawing  his  sword. 

Enter  ERNALDO,  with  attendants. 

ERNALDO.   Treason! — the  Prince! — how,   Reginald! — 

down  with  him. 

Disarm  him ! — I  am  truly  grieved  for  this, 
My  noble  Prince ;  the  boy  shall  answer  for  it. 

REGINALD.  And  it  can  well  be  answered.     In  thy  cause 
I  did  what  should  be  done.     This  noble  Prince 
Is  here  for  noble  deeds. 

PRINCE.  I  can  myself 

Unfold  them  as  they  are. 

[Signing  to  the  attendants  to  retire. 
Now,  Count  Ernaldo, 
Reply  sincerely,  thou  shalt  not  repent  it ; 
Whate'er  thy  answer,  by  my  princely  word 
I  pledge  thy  safety.  [./IszWe.]  He  appears  disturbed ! 

ERNALDO.  My  lord,  I  cannot  think  of  any  question 
Whose  answer  perils  me. 

PRINCE.  And  canst  thou  think 

Of  what  thou  art  suspected  ? 


THE   SPIEIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  67 

ERNALDO.  Rot  the  tongue 

That  uttered  the  suspicion ! — I  am  wronged — 
'T  is  false — 't  is  slanderous — who  has  dared — away ! 

[To  REGINALD. 

Fix  not  that  insolent  eye  in  triumph  on  me ! 
Hast  thou  betrayed  me  ? — death  ! — may  furies  tear  thee ! 
Yet  am  I  safe — thou  hast  no  proof — my  lord, 
In  all  the  pride  of  injured  innocence 
I  stand  secure,  and  smile — 

PRINCE.  But  I  have  proofs 

Unanswerable. 

ERNALDO.  No — it  cannot  be — 

Think  not  to  start  my  fears — ha !  is  it  so 
Indeed !     Then  hail  the  worst — if  I  must  perish 
I  perish  not  alone.  [Drawing  Ms  sword.]  Impede  my  way 
Who  dare  —  off,  villains ! 

\IIe  bursts  from  the  attendants,  and  is  rushing 
away,  when  the  STRANGER  suddenly  appears  before 
him •  ERNALDO  recoils  and  throws  himself  into 
the  arms  of  the  attendants. 

ERNALDO.  Save  me — save  me — 

Kill  me — do  what  ye  will — but  save  me  from  him ! 
Ye  lightnings,  blast  these-  eyes  that  fix  on  his 
Despite  my  will ! — Oh  save  me,  Heaven ! 

STRANGER.  Thou  fool 

What  claim  hast  thou  on  Heaven  ? 

ERNALDO.  Oh  that  the  earth 

I  grovel  on,  would  burst  and  swallow  me ! 


68  THE   SPIRIT   OF' VENGEANCE. 

STRAXGER.  Hereafter  earth  shall  render  thee  that  ser 
vice, 
Yea,  and  a  brighter  element. 

ERXALDO.  In  mercy 

Shield  me  from  his  approach. 

\As  the  STRANGER  approaches  ERXALDO  he  falls 
convulsed  and  insensible  in  the  arms  of  the  at 
tendants. 

PRINCE.  What  art  thou  ? 

STRANGEB.  One,  sir 

Who  loves  not  yon  poor  trembler  with  a  love 
Passing  the  love  of  woman,  yet  perhaps 
About  as  much.    Let  that  be  as  it  may, 
I  wish  not  he  should  bear  another's  sins, 
Having  so  many  of  his  own  to  answer ; 
He  is  no  traitor  to  his  king. 

PRINCE.  I  cannot 

Confide  in  that  assurance. 

STRANGER.  Follow  me : 

Thou  shalt  be  satisfied. 

[The  STRANGER  retires:  the  PRINCE  follows  hesitat 
ingly. 

REGINALD.  [Sustaining  ERNALDO.]  How  is  it  with  you? 
ERNALDO.  \Recovering,  looks  around  bewildered. 

Where  are  the  sulphurous  waves  ?  the  coiling  serpents 
Darting  their  arrowy  fire  ?  the  laughing  fiends 
Making  a  mirth  of  my  calamity  ? 
Methoucrht  I  was  in  hell ! 


THE   SPIEIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  69 

REGINALD.  Thou  art  on  earth, 

And  long  shalt  be,  I  trust. 

EENALDO.  Is  it  Reginald 

Speaks  to  me  ?  and  in  kindness  ?  and  his  arm 
Sustains  me !     Knowest  thou  what  my  arm  has  done  ? 
He  comes  to  tell  thee — Mercy ! 

REGINALD.  Nay,  be  calm,  sir : 

'T  is  but  the  Prince. 

*> 

••* 
The  PRINCE  enters. 

PRINCE.  My  lord,  I  am  ashamed 

Of  my  unjust  suspicions.     I  believed  thee 
Conspired  against  my  father's  throne,  but  gladly 
I  recognize  thy  innocence. 

ERNALDO.  If  all 

His  subjects  are  as  loyal  as  myself 
His  kingdom  has  no  traitor. 

PRINCE.  Yet  I  marvel 

What  caused  thy  agitation. 

ERNALDO.  I  had  heard 

Before  of  slanderous  rumors ;  and  what  wonder 
It  wrung  my  very  soul,  to  find  that  even 
My  Prince  could  deem  me  guilty  ? 

PRINCE.  I  regret  it, 

But  trust  thou  wilt  excuse  it,  and  consent 
To  knit  with  me  a  bond  of  amity, 
The  tie,  thy  daughter's  love. 


70  THE    SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

REGINALD.  Not  Isabelle's  ? 

EKXALDO.  Be  silent,  boy !     Most  gladly  do  I  welcome 
This  most  unlooked-for  honor.     I  believed  not 
That  thou  wouldst  deign  to  cast  affection's  eyes 
On  either  of  my  daughters. 

PEINCE.  Deign  !  say  rather 

Aspire !  for  either  merits  the  ambition 
Of  earth's  supremest  lords. 

ERNALDO.  Thy  words  have  made  me 

Of  fathers  the  most  happy.     But  to  whom 
Shah1  I  announce  the  honor  of  thy  choice  ? 

PRINCE.  The  Lady  Isabelle. 

REGINALD.  Even  so ! 

ERNALDO.  For  her, 

I  must  confess  that  I  had  other  views, 
Which  seem  not  to  her  liking. 

PRINCE.  And  the  cause 

I  can  reveal ;  her  heart  to  mine  was  plighted ; 
Nay,  blame  her  not,  for  this  was  but  concealed 
Till  fitting  tune  should  come  for  the  avowal. 

ERNALDO.  I  joy  't  is  come.     The  day  that  joins  youi 

hands 
Shall  be  the  proudest  day  of  all  my  life. 

REGINALD.  Is  it  possible,  my  lord !   Hast  thou  forgottea 
The  outrage  he  has  done  thee  ?    Is  it  thus 
He  should  be  recompensed  ? 

ERNALDO.  He  was  in  error, 

And  has  atoned  it.    I  am  satisfied ; 


THE    SPIEIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  71 

But  it  appears  thy  leave  must  first  be  asked,  sir. 
PBINCE.  She  conies,  my  beautiful ! 

Enter  ISABELLE  and  JULIA. 

ERNALDO.  Now,  Reginald, 

Think  not  that  I  am  ignorant  of  thy  motives, 
Or  thy  unuttered  wish.    Thou  lovest  my  daughter, 
And  thou  art  free  to  woo  her ;  should  her  love 
Requite  thee,  she  is  thine,  nor  prince  nor  king 
Shall  wrest  her  from  thee. 

REGINALD.  Thou  but  bidst  me  woo  her 

In  mockery ;  but  I  am  resolved  to  hear 
My  sentence  from  her  lips.     I  cannot  boast 
Of  lordly  birth  or  proud  inheritance ; 
All  I  can  offer  thee  is  but  a  heart 
Where  love  enthrones  thee,  and  before  thee  bends 
As  to  its  earthly  god. 

ISABELLE.  \To  the  PRINCE.]  Do  me  the  favor 
To  bid  that  saucy  boy  speak  to  his  equals. 

REGINALD.  Furies! 

ERNALDO.  But  thou  wilt  give  this  princely 

suitor 
A  gentler  answer  ? 

ISABELLE.  There  is  no  disgrace 

In  his  alliance. 

ERNALDO.  [To  the  PRINCE.]  She  is  thine. 

REGINALD.  She  thine ! 


72  THE   SPIRIT    OF    VENGEANCE. 

No,  never !     Dare  but  touch  her  hand — by  Heaven 
I  '11  make  thee  tremble ! 

ERNALDO.  More  respect. 

REGINALD.  Away! 

Stir  not  thy  tongue  to  chide  me ;  I  '11  not  bear  it, 
Old  man,  I  will  not. 

ERNALDO.  Leave  the  house. 

REGINALD.  I  shall,  sir. 

Now  am  I  free,  and  my  delivered  spirit 
Dances  in  buoyant  joy.    There 's  none  on  earth 
Whose  word  or  frown  I  care  for. 

ERNALDO.  Let  us  leave  him.  [Exit. 

REGINALD.  I  leave  you,  and  forever.     Here  no  face 
I  care  to  seek  again  but  thine,  [To  the  PRINCE.]  nor  thine 
In  kindness.    Barest  thou  meet  me  ? 

PRINCE.  I  shall  give  thee 

A  present  answer. 

ISABELLE.  Prince,  respect  thyself 

More  than  to  notice  him,  a  beggarly  outcast. 

REGINALD.  A  beggarly  outcast!      "Well,    I    shall    re 
member 

Those  words,  and  so  shalt  thou ;  they  shall  become, 
To  thee,  as  awful  as  the  damning  word 
That  welcomes  from  this  world  the  guilty  spirit. 

JULIA.  [Soothing  him.]  Dear  Reginald ! 

REGINALD.                    There  shall  be  done  a  deed 
For  which  there  is  no  name ;  and  when  't  is  done, 
And  thou  inquirest  whose  this  deed 1  laugh 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  73 

Even  now  to  think  how  I  shall  triumph  then, 

To  yell  in  answer Mine!  the  beggarly  outcast's! 

JULIA.  Be  calm,  dear  Reginald. 

REGINALD.  Calm  as  the  whirlwind! 

Fly  me! — I  would  not  harm  thee — but  I  feel 
As  I  could  tear  to  pieces  all  around  us, 
Myself  and  thee. 

JULIA.  Dear  Reginald ! 

ISABELLE.  He 's  welcome 

To  spend  his  rage  in  words. 

REGINALD.  Words ! — deeds ! — such  deeds ! 

Think  me  not  powerless,  though  bereft  of  all — 
No  country  name,  nor  kindred,  not  a  friend — 
Love,  honor,  happiness,  nor  even  a  home 
Is  mine — but  thou,  Revenge !  thou  shalt  be  mine, 
Though  from  the  lowest  depths  of  hell  I  call  thee ! 

THE  STRANGER.  [Reappearing.]  It  comes ! 

JULIA.  God  shield  us ! 

REGINALD.  If  thou  bringest  revenge, 

Thou  art  as  welcome  as  a  messenger 
To  heaven. 

STRANGER.  Nay,  there  I  cannot  be  thy  herald; 

But  I  can  lead  to  vengeance.  [Exit, 

REGINALD.  On !  I  follow ! 

JULIA.  [  Clinging  to  REGINALD.]  My  friend,  my  brother, 

stay !  in  pity  hear  me, 
And  go  not  with  that  bad  and  terrible  man! 

REGINALD.  Off!  troublesome  girl. 


74  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

ISABELLE.  Sister,  for  shame ! 

JULIA.  Thou  shalt  not, — 

Thou  shalt  not  go. 

STRANGER.  [Without.]  Reginald! 

REGINALD.  Hark !  I  come ! 

Revenge  is  mine ! 

[  JULIA  falls^  as  he  breaks  from  her  and  rushes  away. 

CURTAIN  DROPS. 


ACT  m. 

SCENE  I. — Night.    A  Storm.    THE  STRANGER  is  discov 
ered  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  overhanging  a  river. 

STRANGER.    Howl  on,   ye  maddened   elements!    your 

groans 

That  shake  creation,  sooner  shall  be  swallowed 
Li  eve's  soft  whispering  zephyrs,  than  shall  drown 
The  eternal  voice  within  me.     Every  sound 
Has  been  opposed  to  this,  and  all  in  vain ! 
The  shock  of  armies  on  the  embattled  field, 
The  blast  of  glory's  trump,  the  thunder-burst 
Of  thronged  applause,  the  adulation  breathed 
From  kneeling  myriads,  the  melody 
Angelical,  the  lips  of  beauty  bathing, 


THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  75 

Or  trembling  from  the  strings  that  dance  beneath 

Her  alabaster  fingers — all  by  thee, 

Merciless  conscience ! — all  are  overpowered, 

And  thou  art  heard  alone ! — Why  then,  all  hail ! 

Tormentor  welcome !     I  disdain  to  shrink 

From  horrors  that  with  fiends  I  laugh  upon 

"When  others  writhe  beneath  them ; — shall  they  laugh 

To  mock  my  own  ? — they  dare  not — they  shall  tremble ! 

Enter  REGINALD. 

STRANGER.  [Descending  the  rocJcsJ\  At  last  he  comes, 

the  unconscious  instrument 
Of  my  revenge. 

REGINALD.  Who  names  revenge? — Oh  wel 

come  ! — 

Speak !  speak !  instruct  me  in  some  deed  unearthly 
To  make  me  for  the  infernal  goddess  Vengeance 
A  blood-anointed  priest,  and  my  example 
The  utmost  that  to  the  incarnate  furies 
Could  seem  desirable  of  imitation. 

STRANGER.  We  shall  attend  to  this  within  a  moment. 

RENINALD.  This  moment. 

STRANGER.  I  must  first — 

REGINALD.  Why  dost  thou  vex  me 

With  trifling  ?     Can  I  heed  thee  while  a  tempest, 
To  which  were  this  around  us  calm  as  Eden, 
Maddens  my  heart  to  bursting ! — Hence — lead  on — 


70  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

I  care  not  whither,  so  it  lead  to  vengeance ! 

STRANGER.  Be  patient ;  give  me  time,  that  I  may  shape 
An  object  for  thy  vengeance,  so  sublime 
In  horror,  hell's  angelic  host  shall  clap 
Their  gloomy  wings  applausive. 

REGINALD.  Yes,  I  'd  wait 

For  ages,  so  the  sum  of  my  revenge 
Increased  with  every  moment.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  2. — A  room  in  ERNALDO'S  palace. 
Enter  ERNALDO. 

ERNALDO.  Happy  Ernaldo !  thy  illustrious  house 
Now  links  to  royalty ! — Oh  very  happy ! 
Hell  yawns  before  me,  and  a  blood-robed  phantom 
Is  ever  near  to  plunge  me  in  the  abyss. 
A  diadem  upon  this  aching  broAV 
Could  be  no  charm  against  him,  or  my  conscience. 
Who  shall  preserve  me  from  them  ? — Oh  ye  heavens ! 
'T  is  said  that  ye  are  merciful  and  mighty, 
Mighty  to  save,  and  merciful  to  pardon — 
If  ye  are  merciful,  why  am  I  thus  ? 
Have  I  not  knelt  for  mercy,  prayed  for  mercy, 
And  wept  for  mercy  ?    From  this  iron  heart 
What  tears  have  not  been  wrung,  and  all  for  mercy — 
What  mercy  have  I  found  ? 

Enter  JULIA. 


THE   SPIKIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  7 

ERX  ALDO.  Who's  there  ?    My  daughter, 

What  brings  thee  hither  from  the  blithesome  circle 
Where  all  is  gay  festivity? 

JULIA.  My  duty. 

ERNALDO.  Let  that  be  made  appear. 

JULIA.  I  saw  thee  turn 

From  all  the  merriment  with  clouded  brow ; 
I  know  the  cause — 

ERNALDO.  Now  God  forbid ! 

JULIA.  My  father, 

I  followed  to  implore  thou  wouldst  remove 
Thy  sorrow  and  its  cause. 

ERNALDO.  [Bitterly]  Who  can  remove  it  ? 

JULIA.  Though  Reginald  was  worthy  blame,  thy  heart 
Repents  the  moment's  rigor  that  has  driven 
The  boy  of  thy  adoption  from  thy  house, 
I  know  't  is  this  afflicts  thee. 

ERSTALDO.  I  am  sorry 

For  what  hath  past ;  but  he  may  thank  himself ; 
Let  him  abide  the  consequence. 

JULIA.  Ah  no ! 

Thy  heart  speaks  other  language ;  I  implore  thee 
Obey  its  better  counsel ;  send  for  him, 
Forgive  him  and  receive  him  to  thy  favor — 
Say,  wilt  thou  not,  dear  father  ? 

ERNALDO.  Why,  thou  pleadest 

With  more  than  filial  love. 

JULIA.  He  was  my  brother, 


78  THE   SPIRIT    OF    VENGEANCE. 

My  only  brother ;  was  he  not  to  thee 
A  son  ?  hast  thou  another  to  supply 
His  place  in  thy  affections  ? 

ERXALDO.  Or  in  thine  ? 

Ha !  girl !  thou  lovest  him  ? 

JUIJA.  As  a  sister  should. 

ERXALDO.    Thy  tone  speaks  further  than  thy  words. 

Nay,  prithee 

My  girl,  forbear  that  look  distressed ;  I  read 
Thy  heart,  and  blame  it  not.     My  other  views 
For  Reginald  have  failed ;  thy  innocent  love 
Shall  well  redeem  their  failure.    Do  I  err  ? 
Art  thou  unwilling  to  be  his  ? 

JULIA.  Thy  pleasure 

Is  all  I  seek,  dear  father. 

EKNALDO.  When  the  same 

As  thine,  ha!  wench?    I  wish  the  boy  were  here 
To  see  that  baby  face,  where  smiles  and  tears 
Make  mirth  of  one  another.     Let  us  seek 
The  festive  band ;  the  merriest  of  them  all 
Shall  find  a  match  in  one  of  us — ha!  daughter!     [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  3. — The  hermitage  in  the  ruined  castle. 
Enter  THERESA  and  MAXUEL. 

MAXUEL.  Where  is  that  evil  man  ?     What  has  he  said 
To  make  thy  countenance  so  sorrowful  ? 
Mother,  believe  it  not. 


THE   SPJEIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  79 

THERESA.  Alas!  too  well 

I  know  its  truth. 

MANUEL.  Oh  for  a  warrior's  sword ! 

Oh  for  a  giant's  arm !  that  I  might  thank  him 
For  adding  to  thy  sorrows. 

THERESA.  Hush,  my  child ; 

I  would  not  any,  thou  the  least  of  all, 
Should  harm  a  hair  of  his  head. 

Enter  REGINALD  following  THE  STRANGER. 

REGINALD.  Ha !  what  are  these  ? 

Ernaldo's  wife  and  child !  what  do  they  here? 

STRANGER.  Thou  art  deceived;  nor  this  Ernaldo's  wife, 
Nor  this  his  child. 

REGINALD.  Whose  then  ? 

STRANGER.  Boy,  ask  thy  mother. 

MANUEL.  Yes,  mother,  tell  me  now  what  oft  in  vain 
I  've  asked  of  thee. 

THERESA.  Few  nobler  are  in  birth 

And  none  in  spirit,  than  thy  father  was, 
His  generous  virtues  and  his  high  achievements 
A  nation  voiced  in  triumph,  as  defying 
The  world  to  match  her  favorite  son. 

MANUEL.  Oh  mother ! 

How  proud  I  should  be  of  him, 

THERESA.  But  there  came 

An  earthquake  on  his  soul,  whose  terrible 


80  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

Revulsion,  overthrew  and  buried  all 
His  Letter  feelings. 

MANUEL.  Whose  unholy  work 

Was  that  ?  heaven's  curse  upon  them ! 

THERESA.  His  high  estate 

And  fortune  measureless,  tempted  a  villain 
To  his  destruction. 

MANUEL.  Damn  him ! 

THERESA.  Hush ! 

STRANGER.  Proceed. 

THERESA.  One  eve,  returning  from  a  pleasant  ride, 
My  husband  and  myself,  and  our  young  child 
Were  set  upon  by  villains ;  our  attendants 
Dispersed  or  slain,     1  fled  with  womanish  weakness, 
But  by  the  feelings  of  a  wife  and  mother 
Recalled,  I  hastened  back — the  child  was  gone — 
My  husband — 

MASTTTEL.        Oh  not  dead ! 

THERESA.  My  shrieks  attracted 

The  inmates  of  a  neighboring  cottage ;  thither 
They  bore  my  husband's  body;  by  our  care 
He  was  at  last  restored. 

MANUEL.  Thank  God. 

THERESA.  His  life 

Continued  in  suspense.     Spare  me  the  rest. 

STRANGER.  It  better  suits  my  tongue.    When  he  recov 
ered, 
His  wife — imprudent  wretch ! — she  told  him  whose 


THE   SPIRIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  81 

The  murderous  arm  that  struck  him ;  from  that  moment 

His  soul  became  a  hell,  whose  ruling  demon 

Was  vengeance.     But  in  vain  for  many  a  year 

He  sought  the  murderer,  who  in  giiilty  terror 

Had  fled  the  country,  even  without  securing 

The  fruits  he  sinned  for. 

MANUEL.  And  my  father  then 

Went  home  and  claimed  his  own  ? 

STRANGER.  No :  he  was  careful 

That  his  existence  should  be  kept  a  secret 
From  all,  lest  it  should  reach  his  destined  victim 
And  warn  him  to  escape.     Meantime  to  forward 
His  views,  he  joined  himself  to  vile  banditti. 

MANUEL.  Oh  pitiful ! 

STRANGER.  He  soon  became  their  greatest 

In  prowess  and  in  guilt ;  he  roved  with  them 
From  clime  to  clime,  and  like  a  conqueror's 
His  path  was  tracked  with  blood. 

MANUEL.  Alas,  my  mother ! 

Didst  thou  attend  such  scenes ! 

THERESA.  I  little  knew 

That  such  were  passing.     When  thy  father  left  me 
He  told  not  whither  he  would  go  or  why. 
Years  passed ;  he  came  again,  and  I  imagined 
Guiltless  as  ever.     He  continued  with  me 
Till  thou  wast  born,  but  soon  abruptly  left  us 
Nor  since  returned. 

STRANGER.  For  he  was  called  away 

4* 


82  THE   SPIKIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

By  tidings  that  at  last  his  destined  victim 
Had  publicly  appeared,  and  as  his  heir 
Assumed  his  name,  his  title  and  his  fortunes. 
But  still  pursuit  was  vain,  until  the  wars 
In  which  an  honorable  part  was  borne 
By  the  usurper,  ending,  he  retired 
To  his  usurped  domains. 

MAXUEL,  And  there  he  fell 

Beneath  my  father's  arm? 

STRAXGER.  No :  the  avenger 

Restrained  himself,  to  study  direr  pangs 
Than  death  can  give.     But  oft  to  slake  his  soul 
Burning  with  enmity  to  all  mankind, 
He  plunged  in  guiltless  blood. 

MAXTJEL.  Oh  tell  me,  mother, 

Tell  me  that  he  deceives  me,  that  a  wretch 
So  wicked  and  dishonored,  could  not  be 
The  father  of  thy  Manuel. 

STRANGER.  By  whose  fault 

Became  thy  father  wicked  and  dishonored  ? 
By  hers ! — Had  she  concealed  the  assassin's  name, 
The  spirit  of  revenge  had  slumbered  still, 
Being  without  an  object,  and  thy  father 
Had  still  been  innocent  and  honorable. 

THERESA.  Forgive  me !  [Sobbing. 

STRAXGER.          Damn  thee !  aye  when  God  forgives  me 
Will  I  forgive  thee ! — Boy,  I  must  avenge 
Thy  father's  ruined  soul.  [Stabs  her. 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  83 

MANUEL.  Oh,  kill  me  too! 

But  thou,  [To  REGINALD.]  I  charge  thee,  as  thou  art  a  man, 
Visit  our  blood  upon  him ! 

THERESA.  Hush,  my  Manuel, 

Speak  not  a  word  against  him.     Heaven  forgive  me 
As  I  forgive  him. 

MANUEL.  Oh  my  angel  mother ! 

I  cannot  let  thee  leave  me. 

THEKESA.  Nearer — nearer — 

I  '11  waft  thy  kiss  to  heaven,  and  there  I  trust 
It  shall  be  rendered  back.     Where  art  thou  ? 

MANUEL.  Here, 

My  dearest  mother. 

THERESA.  From  my  misted  eyes 

Thou  fadest  like  a  vision — yet  I  feel 
Thy  kisses  on  my  cheek — one  more — farewell — 
God  bless  thee,  my  sweet  boy ! 

MANUEL.  Look  there ! 

[The  STRANGER  makes  a  signal^  at  which  some  at 
tendants  enter. 

STRANGER.  Remove  them ! 

MANUEL.     Punish  that  wicked  man. 

STRANGER.  Begone ! 

[Exeunt  attendants  with  the  body,  dragging  MAN 
UEL  with  them. 

And  now,  sir, 
What  thinkest  thou  of  this  lesson  ? 

REGINALD.  I  must  think 


84  THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

Thou  art  a  master-fiend. 

STRANGER.  That  woman's  sin 

Was  worthy  death. 

REGINALD.  What  do  they  merit  then, 

By  whom  I  have  been  frenzied  ? 

STRANGER.  Worse  than  death. 

Wouldst  slay  the  Prince  ? 

REGINALD.  Oh  yes ! 

STRANGER.  How  pitiful ! 

Death  but  inflicts  one  pang,  and  by  that  one 
Averts  a  myriad. 

REGINALD.  But  I  must  have  blood 

To  quench  this  raging  fire. 

STRANGER.  And  thou  shalt  have  it, 

But  not  the  Prince's. 

REGINALD.  Whose  ? 

STRANGER.  His  destined  bride's. 

REGINALD.  Ah! 

STRANGER.        Dost  thou  shudder,  fool  ? 

REGINALD.  [Faltering.]  Poor  Isabelle ! 

STRANGER.  Poor  Reginald !  those  are  the  very  words 
She  whispers  now  to  thy  more  happy  rival ; 
For  even  at  this  late  hour  a  brilliant  throng 
Are  celebrating  in  Ernaldo's  halls 
The  approaching  nuptials,  and  the  amorous  pair 
Belike  bestow  a  thought  of  pity  on  thee 
Amid  their  revelry. 

REGINALD.  Curse  on  their  pity ! 


THE   SPIRIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  85 

Come,  we  shall  revel  too ;  but  it  shall  be 
In  blood. 

STRAXGER.  In  Isabelle's  ?  . 

REGINALD.  I  care  not  whose.          [Exeunt. 

SCEXE  4. — A  hall  in  ERXALDO'S  palace,  splendidly  deco 
rated  and  illuminated.  ERXALDO,  ISABELLE,  JULIA,  the 
PRIXCE,  and  a  throng  of  lords  and  ladies  are  discovered. 

ERXALDO.  What  dulls  the  merriment  ?     Come  girl,  't  is 
thine,  [To  JULIA. 

To  waken  it  with  one  of  thy  sweet  songs, 
That  well  might  waken  death. 

OMXES.  A  song !  a  song ! 

JULIA.  Father — 

ERXALDO.  I  '11  be  obey'd. 

OMXES.  A  song !  a  song ! 

JULIA  sings. 

What  is  the  sweetest  feeling 

That  ever  on  the  soul 
Of  youth  or  maiden  stealing, 

Bids  waves  of  rapture  roll  ? 
What  the  sublimest  pleasure 

Of  those  embowered  above  ? 
Or  earth's  divinest  treasure  ? 

'T  is  love !  immortal  love ! 

[Chorus  of  youths  and  maidens. 


86  THE   SPIEIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

What  are  the  ties  most  holy 

That  link  this  happy  pair  ? 
And  what  the  bliss  that  solely 

To  know  on  earth  they  care  ? 
And  what  the  charm  to  either 

Shall  seem  ah1  charms  above, 
Which  time  can  sweep  from  neither  ? 

'T  is  love !  immortal  love !          [  Chorus. 

EKNALDO.  Well,  girl — 

JULIA.  Excuse  me,  for  I  am  opprest 

With  faintness,  and  have  need  to  be  relieved 
By  the  fresh  air. 

A  CAVALIER.  Permit  me? 

[  Offering  his  arm,  which  she  accepts,  and  retires 

with  him. 

ERSTALDO.  Lords  and  dames, 

Let  this  not  break  your  pastime. — Music  there ! 
Strike  up  a  dance,  and  let  our  marble  walls 
Shake  to  the  bound  of  merry  feet. — What  now  ? 

[To  an  attendant,  who  enters  and  approaches  ER 
IN  ALDO. 

ATTENDANT.  Entering  the  chamber  where  I  had  com 
mitted 

The  lady  and  the  child  entrusted  to  me, 
I  found  them  gone. 
ERNALDO.  Why,  let  them  go !  I  care  not. 

[Attendant  retires 
Fear,  danger,  sorrow,  from  this  happy  hour 


TIIE   SPIEIT    OF   VENGEANCE.  87 

Shall  never  trouble  me.     Strike  up,  I  say ! 

[A  dance.    The  STRANGER  and  REGINALD  enter  and 

stand  apart  unnoticed. 
STRANGER.  A  joyous  sight. 

REGINALD.  How  maddening  is  the  mirth 

Of  all  around  us,  when  we  ourselves  are  wretched ! 
STRANGER.  We  '11  turn  their  mirth  to  mourning. 
REGINALD.  Look — see  there — 

She  smiles  like  heaven ! 

STRANGER.  She  smiles  upon  thy  rival. 

REGINALD.  Curse  on  her  and  her  smiles !  angelic  devil ! 
See — see — his  arm  entwines  her ! — well !  may  this 
Of  mine  drop  from  me,  but  he  shall  repent  it ! 
They  laugh ! — Oh  I  could  tear  them ! 

STRAXGER.  Haply  thou 

And  thy  aspiring  love  provoked  that  burst 
Of  merriment. 

REGINALD.        My  time  shall  come ! 
STRANGER.  Observe 

They  steal  away  together. 

REGINALD.  And  together 

They  die ! 

STRANGER.  Be  cautious,  and  in  silence  follow. 

[They  retire  unperceived,  in  the  same  direction  as 
the  PRINCE  and  ISABELLE.     Scene  changes  to  a 
garden,  ~by  moonlight.    Enter  the  STRANGER  and 
REGINALD. 
STRANGER.  We  have  lost  their  track. 


88  THE   SPIKIT    OF   VENGEANCE. 

REGINALD.  But  like  a  raging  lion 

I  '11  range  in  every  place,  till  I  have  found  them 
Within  my  fangs. 

STKANGEB.  Patience ;  await  them  here, 

For  they  must  pass  this  way.    Dost  thou  remember 
How  I  employed  this  dagger  ? 

REGINALD.  I  shall  prove 

Upon  the  accursed  Prince,  I  can  employ  it 
As  well. 

STRANGER.        That  as  thou  wilt ;  but  Isabelle 
Must  die. 

REGINALD.        They  both  shah1  die. 

STEANGEE.  I  hear  their  steps. 

Remember.  [Retiring. 

REGINALD.        'T  is  resolved. 

[A  CAVALIER  and  LADY  pass  l>y. 

LADY.  How  beautiful 

Appears  the  face  of  Heaven ! 

CAVALIEE.  Like  thine ! 

LADY.  I  never 

Saw  fairer  sight.  [They pass  on. 

REGINALD.        Ye  skies !  how  dare  ye  smile 
In  mockery  of  horror !     Ye  beauteous  stars ! 
Young  eyes  of  Heaven !  ye  do  profane  yourselves 
If  ye  do  look  upon  me ! — Arise !  arise ! 
Ye  shades  of  Hell  arise!  from  earth  and  Heaven 
Cover  a  deed  whose  darkness  pales  your  own ! 

[The  LADY  and  CAVALIEE  again  pass  l>y. 


THE   SPIEIT   OF   VENGEANCE.  89 

LADY.  Shall  we  return  ? 

REGINALD.  They  must  not  pass  in  safety 

This  time ;  my  baffled  vengeance  shall  not  be 
Their  jest. — Ho  there ! — the  beggarly  outcast  strikes ! 

'[Stabs  the  LADY,  who  falls  with  a  shriek  •  the  CAV 
ALIER  su2>ports  her  j  REGINALD  is  about  to  stab 
him,  when  MANUEL  rushes  forward  and  catches 
his  arm. 

MANUEL.  Forbear !  forbear ! — "Who  sins  against  another 
Sins  most  against  himself. 

Enter  EKNALDO,  the  PRINCE,  ISABELLE,  CAVALIERS,  LADIES, 
and  attendants,  with  torches. 

REGINALD.  Too  true  thou  speakest. 

Oh  Julia !  have  I  slain  thee ! — thee  of  all 
The  only  one  that  loved  me ! — Would  to  God 
That  I  had  loved  thee  sooner ! 

JULIA.  Reginald ! 

Dear  Reginald !  such  tender  words  from  thee 
Are  cheaply  bought  with  life. 

EKNALDO.  "Where  shall  I  turn 

For  comfort  ? 

STRAGER.         [Advancing.]  Here! 

ERNALDO.  The  might  of  agony 

Sustains  me  in  thy  presence.     Hast  thou  come 
To  drag  me  down  to  hell  ?  behold  me  ready ! 
Such  are  my  torments  here,  I  cannot  dread 
An  added  pang  hereafter. 


90  THE   SPIEIT   OF   VENGEANCE. 

STRANGER.  Thanks,  good  brother  1 

Thou  knowest  not  how  much  thy  words  delight  me ! 
But  I  can  tell  thee  something  for  thy  comfort ; 
Thy  weapon  did  not  perfectly  accomplish 
Thy  brotherly  intent.     Nay,  I  have  lived 
For  vengeance  yet ;  regard  the  scene  before  thee 
And  say,  have  I  not  lived  to  a  good  purpose  ? 

REGINALD.  Speak  not  of  death,  sweet  girl ! — there  yet 

is  hope — 

'T  is  not  a  fatal  wound ;  thou  wilt  recover — 
Thou  wilt — and  I  shall  love  thee — love  thee  dearly — 
And  all  shall  yet  be  well ! 

STRANGER.  Thus  I  forbid  it ! 

[Stalling  REGINALD,  who  falls  at  JULIA'S  side. 
ERNALDO.  Oh  miserable  father ! 
STKANGEE.  Yes,  I  knew, 

From  the  first  moment  that  my  eyes  beheld  him, 
He  was  thy  lawless  son ;  and  that  impelled  me 
To  study  his  perdition,  as  one  means 
Of  cursing  thee. 

EENALDO.  [Scarce  able  to  articulate.]  'T  is  not  my  son — 
'T  is  thine ! 

[The  STRANGER  stands  gazing  at  ERNALDO  for  a 
moment;  then  rushes  to  him  and  drags  him  off 
the  scene.  All  stand  transfixed  with  horror,  till 
startled  by  a  wild  cry  without. 

CURTAIN  DROPS. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 


LOVE'S    YOUNG   DREAM. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  LOYE. 

THAT  we  for  riper  years  should  stay, 

Though  coldly  thou  declarest, 
I  tell  thee,  in  the  bloom  of  May 

The  flower  of  love  is  fairest. 
All  who  have  loved  must  know  the  truth 

That  love  with  time  is  flying ; 
It  blooms  but  in  the  bloom  of  youth, 

Its  power  with  beauty  dying. 
To  beauty,  by  her  magic  strung, 

Love  consecrates  his  lyre, 
And  none,  except  the  fair  and  young, 

Its  accents  can  inspire. 
That  we  for  riper  years  should  stay, 

Though  coldly  thou  declarest, 
I  tell  thee  in  the  bloom  of  May 

The  flower  of  love  is  fairest ! 


94  MY   BLUE-EYED   MAID. 


MY  BLUE-EYED  MAID. 

WKITTEK    AT    THE    AGE    OP    FOURTEEN. 

FORGET  me  not,  my  blue-eyed  maid, 

When  fate  our  parting  shall  decree ! 
My  love  may  never  be  repaid, 

But  still,  oh,  still  remember  me ! 
Thy  image,  in  my  heart  enshrined 

In  death's  embrace  alone  shall  fade ; 
When  I  am  in  his  arms  reclined, 

Forget  me  not,  my  blue-eyed  maid ! 

If  on  the  monumental  stone 

The  name  of  one  thou  chance  to  see, 
Whose  heart  was  thine,  and  thine  alone, 

Oh  then,  my  love,  remember  me, 
As  one  that  were  supremely  blest 

His  life  before  thee  to  have  laid, 
Could  that  insure  his  last  request : 

Forget  me  not,  my  blue-eyed  maid 


MY   FOKDEST  AND   FAIREST.  95 

MY  FONDEST  AND  FAIREST. 

MY  fondest  and  fairest ! 

Oh  why  dost  thou  stay? 
How  can  I  be  happy 

While  thou  art  away  ? 
I  yearn  to  be  with  thee 

Wherever  thou  art — 
My  sweetest  and  dearest ! 

Return  to  my  heart ! 

My  fondest  and  fairest ! 

While  sadly  I  cast 
My  glance  round  the  scenes 

Where  I  looked  on  thee  last, 
Methinks  I  behold  thee — 

To  clasp  thee  I  start — 
My  sweetest  and  dearest 

Return  to  my  heart ! 

My  fondest  and  fairest ! 

No  longer  delay! 
I  'm  weary — I  'm  wretched 

While  thou  art  away ! 
Come !  bring  me  the  rapture 

None  else  can  impart ! 
My  sweetest  and  dearest ! 

Return  to  my  heart ! 


THE   CHAEMS   OF   WOMAN. 

THE  CHARMS  OF  WOMAN. 

THE  glittering  stars  we  admire, 

And  the  sun  on  his  throne  in  the  skies, 
And  we  worship  the  lovelier  fire 

That  sparkles  in  woman's  sweet  eyes ; 
The  bloom  of  the  flourishing  roses 

Delight  to  the  eyes  can  impart ; 
And  the  bloom  that  dear  woman  discloses 

Has  far  more  delight  for  the  heart. 

How  sweetly  the  zephyrs  are  throwing 

The  fragrance  they  snatch  from  the  flowers ! 
How  sweeter  the  breath  that  is  flowing 

From  the  pure  lips  of  woman  to  ours ! 
Whatever  around  thee  thou  meetest, 

The  spell  of  delight  that  can  lend, 
The  brightest,  the  fairest,  the  sweetest, 

In  woman  far  lovelier  blend. 

Her  eyes  have  a  heavenly  splendor, 

But  if  virtue  have  kindled  its  star 
In  her  soul,  its  resplendence  will  lend  her 

A  light  that  is  lovelier  far ! 
Her  breath  has  a  sweetness  when  blending 

With  ours  in  the  pure  kiss  of  love ! 
Far  sweeter  that  breath  when  ascending 

In  prayer  to  her  Maker  above. 


THE   CHAEMS    OF   WOMAN.  97 

When  in  one  all  the  charms  are  united 

On  the  soul  and  the  senses  that  steal, 
When  we  gaze  on  her  softness  delighted, 

Or  when  to  her  brightness  we  kneel ; 
However  those  beauties  may  ravish, 

And  fetter  the  soul  and  the  eyes, 
Not  on  them  all  our  thoughts  should  we  lavish, 

But  spare  one,  at  least,  for  the  skies. 

If  the  light  of  her  eyes  we  admire, 

Oh,  what  is  the  glory  of  HIM, 
From  whom  Heaven's  eyes  had  the  fire, 

To  which  even  beauty's  were  dim ! 
Who  the  blaze  to  Apollo  has  given, 

Which  the  stars  to  behold  cannot  bear ! 
What  splendor  on  earth  or  in  Heaven 

Can  with  its  Creator's  compare ! 

If  all  the  creation  discloses 

Such  beauty  our  homage  to  claim, 
How  awful  a  beauty  reposes 

On  the  brow  of  the  God  whence  it  came ! 
When  woman  upon  you  has  laid  her 

Control,  while  you  love  and  adore, 
Oh,  think  of  the  BEIXG  who  made  her, 

And  love  Him  and  worship  Him  more ! 


98  THE   GRAVE   OF  MARY. 


THE   GRAVE  OF  MARY. 

FAB,  far  from  this  grave  be  the  footstep  unholy, 
Its  sanctity  that  would  presume  to  invade ! 

By  all  who  approach  it,  with  reverence  lowly, 
May  homage  to  virtue  and  beauty  be  paid ; 

To  virtue  and  beauty  that  almost  had  made  her 

On  earth,  what  they  now  have  quite  made  her  in  heaven : 

For  the  seraphic  charms,  in  this  world  that  arrayed  her, 
To  wither  as  soon  as  they  bloomed  were  not  given. ; — 

Ah  no !  they  were  only  transplanted  again, 

To  bloom  in  the  glorious  world  whence  they  came ; 

Where  nothing  of  earth  or  corruption  shall  stain 
Their  splendors  on  high  that  eternally  flame. 

My  Mary !  my  love !  art  thou  hovering  near 
To  look  upon  him  o'er  thy  dust  who  is  kneeling, 

While  wrung  from  my  bosom,  full  many  a  tear 
To  water  the  grave  of  my  Mary  is  stealing  ? 

While  o'er  thee  hi  passionate  agony  bending, 
I  fondly  would  think,  from  the  regions  above, 

Thy  spirit  I  see  in  its  beauty  descending, 
To  calm  my  wild  anguish  for  Mary  my  love. 


MY   OWN,    MY    CHOSEN   BKIDE.  99 

MY  OWN,  MY  CHOSEN  BRIDE. 

AND  thou  art  torn,  my  fairest ! 

From  him  who  loves  thee  best, 
And  I  must  lose  the  heaven 

That  long  my  heart  has  blest ! 
But  though  we  part,  my  fairest ! 

No  parting  can  divide 
Our  wedded  hearts,  my  fairest ! 

My  own,  my  chosen  bride ! 

Forget  me  not,  my  fairest ! 

Thou  shalt  not  be  forgot ; 
Remember  all  our  fondness — 

Sweet  love !  forget  me  not ! 
Where'er  thou  art,  my  fairest ! 

My  soul  is  at  thy  side ; 
My  heart  with  thine,  my  fairest ! 

My  own,  my  chosen  bride ! 

For  years  and  years,  my  fairest ! 

A  Life  of  toil  and  care 
Must  win  a  worthy  fortune, 

For  thee  at  last  to  share ; 
But  then — oh  then,  my  fairest ! 

I  '11  come  with  joy  and  pride, 
To  claim  my  first,  my  fairest ! 

My  own,  my  chosen  bride ! 


100  LOVE   WITHOUT  HOPE. 

LOVE  WITHOUT  HOPE. 

THE  meanest  wretch  that  sullies  earth 

May  on  thy  beauty  gaze, 
And  all  unconscious  of  its  worth 

May  bask  him  in  its  blaze ; 
And  those  who  care  not  for  thy  sight 

Their  hours  may  by  thee  spend, 
Where  t  would  emparadise  me  quite 

One  moment  to  attend. 

And  those  who  to  its  charms  are  dead 

Thy  angel  voice  may  hear, 
Which  never  shall  its  music  shed 

For  him  who  holds  it  dear ! 
And  worthless  fools  the  smile  command 

That  me  with  heaven  would  bless, 
And  heartless  wretches  clasp  the  hand 

That  I  would  die  to  press ! 

But  I  who  love  thee — I  to  whom 

Thou  art  a  saint  below, 
Ne'er  to  approach  thee  may  presume 

Nor  scarce  a  glance  bestow ; 
I  gaze  when  thou  art  gliding  past, 

Unconscious  of  my  eyes, 
As  gaze  the  lost  at  glimpses  cast 

From  opening  Paradise ! 


LOVE    WITHOUT   HOPE.  101 

Why  should  I  seek  thy  heart  to  gain  ? 

Thy  hand  must  be  denied ! 
Why  should  they  link  affection's  chain 

Whom  fortune's  gulfs  divide  ? 
Still  shall  I  Avatch  thee  glide  before, 

But  bound  my  wishes  there — 
Such  bliss  is  even  this,  that  more 

Seems  more  than  life  could  bear 


102  LOVE  WILL   FLND    OUT   THE   WAT. 


LOVE  WILL  FIND  OUT  THE  WAY. 

THOUGH  father  and  mother 

Forbid  me  thy  sight, 
Though  sister  and  brother 

Against  us  unite, 
Though  all  that  surround  us 

To  part  us  essay, 
From  aU  will  I  win  thee — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Though  oceans  may  sunder, 

Or  mountains  may  close, 
Or  tempests  may  thunder 

The  path  to  oppose ; 
Though  earthquakes  between  us 

The  abyss  may  display, 
Through  all  will  I  win  thee — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Through  forest  and  desert, 

Through  flood  and  through  flame, 
Through  pain  and  through  peril, 

Through  sorrow  and  shame, 
Through  darkness  and  danger, 

By  night  or  by  day, 
Through  death  and  destruction — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 


LOVE    WILL    FIND    OUT   THE    WAY.  103 

Yes,  I  will  regain  thee, 

My  chosen,  my  best ! 
My  bird !  thou  shalt  nestle 

Again  in  my  breast ; 
This  heart  for  thy  refuge, 

This  arm.  for  thy  stay, 
I  will  guard  thee  forever — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way.   • 


104  MY   LOVE   LOVES    3IE. 


MY  LOVE  LOVES  ME. 

OH  there  is  a  song 

That  the  young  heart  sings  1 
That  forth  in  a  fountain 

Of  music  springs, 
As  fresh  as  the  dance 

Of  the  streams  set  free — 
"  I  love  my  love, 

And  my  love  loves  me ! " 

Sweetest  and  dearest, 

Fondest  and  best, 
While  with  thy  presence 

No  longer  blest, 
My  heart  murmurs  o'er 

As  it  strays  to  thee, — 
"  I  love  my  love, 

And  my  love  loves  me ! " 

And  thou,  my  beloved, 

When  I  leave  thy  sight, 
It  soothes  me  to  think 

That  thou  wilt  delight 
To  murmur  the  song 

I  taught  to  thee, 
"  I  love  my  love, 

And  my  love  loves  me ! " 


MY   LOVE   LOVES   ME.  1Q5 

"We  heed  not  the  pleasures 

To  others  knoAvn, 
A  better  and  dearer 

Is  ours  alone, 
To  whisper  our  hearts 

In  their  secret  glee, — 
"  I  love  rny  love, 

And  my  love  loves  me ! " 

And  oh !  when  again 

I  welcome  thy  face, 
When  again  I  clasp  thee 

In  fond  embrace, 
To  me  wilt  thou  whisper, 

And  I  to  thee, — 
"  I  love  my  love, 

And  my  love  loves  me ! " 


5* 


106  BROKEN   TIES. 


BROKEN  TIES. 

Go — I  from  my  soul  disclaim  thee, 
Mine  I  never  more  shall  name  thee ; 
By  the  love  that  thou  hast  slighted, 
By  the  joy  that  thou  hast  blighted, 
By  the  fairy  visions  vanished, 
Ingrate !  go,  forever  banished ! 

By  the  promise  vainly  spoken, 

By  the  heart  thou  wouldst  have  broken, 

Did  not  strength  of  soul  sustain  me, 

That  I  mourn  not  but  disdain  thee, 

Go,  forever  from  me  driven ! 

Go — forgotten — not  forgiven ! 

When  thou  findest  all  around  thee 
Faithless,  worthless,  as  I  found  thee, 
Thou  shalt  learn  the  worth  to  measure 
Of  the  heart  thou  wouldst  not  treasure ; 
But  in  vain  thy  soul's  repentance — 
Irrevocable  the  sentence — 
Go,  forever  from  me  driven ! 
Go — forgotten — not  forgiven ! 


THE   BEST   AND   THE    WOKST   OF   IT.  107 


THE  BEST  AND  THE  WORST  OF  IT. 


the  crowded  halls  of  mirth 
I  turn,  from  lonely  thoughts  to  fly, 
And  find  the  change  but  little  worth, 
Amid  the  throng  alone  on  earth, 
For  very  sorrow  I  could  die. 

But  when  that  heavenly  face  I  see 
Whose  loving  looks  to  mine  reply, 

The  world  appears  my  own  to  be,     • 

For  she  is  all  the  world  to  me, 
And  I  for  very  joy  could  die. 

When  youthful  dreams,  forever  fled, 
From  memory  claim  the  hopeless  sigh  ; 

When  long  lost  friends  like  spectres  tread, 
The  cold,  the  faithless  and  the  dead  !  " 
I  feel  so  wretched  I  could  die. 

But  when  those  eyes,  in  which  I  trace 

The  beauty  of  the  starlight  sky, 
Look  up  so  fondly  in  my  face, 
All  sweetness  and  confiding  grace, 
I  feel  so  happy  I  could  die. 


108  THE   LOCK   OF   HATB. 


THE  LOCK  OF  HAIR. 

SHE  loved  me  well,  whose  precious  head 

This  cherished  ringlet  bore ; 
Yet  there  will  come  a  time  I  dread, 

When  she  will  love  no  more : 
A  thousand  chances  will  occur 

Her  kindness  to  estrange ; 
This  little  lock  is  all  of  her 

That  time  will  never  change ! 
And  when  the  Up  that  once  I  prest 

No  smile  to  me  will  give, 
This  ringlet  in  my  lonely  breast 

Shall  bid  some  comfort  li ve ; 
And  when  some  happier  heart  shall  bless 

The  love  I  must  resign, 
How  will  I  prize  this  little  tress, 

Unaltered  still  and  mine  I 
I  have  but  little  joy  on  earth 

Or  hope  of  joy  above,  \ 

Save  one  that  every  joy  is  worth — 

The  Paradise  of  love : 
Why  must  I  know  it  will  not  last, 

That  fate  will  only  spare, 
Of  all  the  love  and  rapture  past, 

One  little  lock  of  hair  1 


I  KNOW  THAT  THOU  AKT  FAR  AWAY.    109 


I  KNOW  THAT  THOU  ART  FAR  AWAY. 

I  KNOW  that  thou  art  far  away, 

Yet  in  my  own  despite,- 
My  still  expectant  glances  stray 

Inquiring  for  thy  sight ; 
Though  all  too  sure  that  thy  sweet  face 

Shall  bless  no  glance  of  mine ; 
At  every  time,  in  every  place, 

My  eyes  are  seeking  thine. 

I  hope — how  vain  the  hope  I  know — 

That  yet  some  blissful  chance 
May  bring  thee  here,  again  to  throw 

Thy  sweetness  on  my  glance ; 
But  my  best  love,  where'er  thou  art, 

Whate'er  be  my  despair, 
My  eyes  shall  seek  thee,  and  my  heart 

Shall  love  thee  everywhere. 


110  LOVE'S    AMBITION. 

LOVE'S  AMBITION. 

FBOM  THE  GEKMAN  OF  CONBAD  KBEZ. 

OH  that  I  were  a  king 

In  golden  pomp  arrayed ! 
And  thou,  most  beautiful, 

Wert  but  an  humble  maid ; 

Then  would  I  say  to  thee, 
"  Oh  best  beloved  of  mine, 

Behold  my  crown  and  throne, 
For  throne  and  crown  are  thine ! 

"  In  truth  thou  art  not  sprung 
From  those  of  royal  race, 

But  Nature's  royalty 

Adorns  thy  form  and  face. 

"  I  climbed  the  lofty  heights — 
I  found  them  drear  and  bare ; 

I  sought  the  deepest  vale — 

The  sweetest  flower  was  there ! " 

Now,  from  thy  rosy  mouth, 
I  hear  the  gentle  sound — 

"  Oh  let  that  flower  remain 
Still  in  its  native  ground ! 

"  Its  beauty  and  perfume 
Live  in  this  mossy  place ; 


LOVE'S   AMBITION.  HI 


Why  break  it  off  to  die 
Within  a  golden  vase  ? 

"  I  ask  not  for  my  brow 

A  coronet  of  pearls — 
Give  me  a  budding  rose 

To  place  among  my  curls ! " 

I  fling  my  sceptre  far, 
Deep,  in  the  deepest  sea — 

For  what  are  crown  and  throne 
Without  thy  love  for  me  ? 

'T  is  not  a  crown  of  gold 

Can  match  thy  brighter  hair — 
'T  is  not  a  diamond  wreath 

Can  with  thine  eyes  compare ! 

Had  I  as  many  crowns 
As  shine  the  stars  above — 

Oh !  I  would  give  them  all, 
Sweet  maiden,  for  thy  love ! 

And  yet  I  must  repeat — 
And  thou  wilt  not  upbraid — 

Oh  that  I  were  a  king, 

And  thou  an  humble  maid ! 


112  WEDDED    LOVE. 

WEDDED  LOVE. 

I  MAY  not  call  to  grandeur's  hall 

The  lady  of  my  heart ; 
I  have  not  power  or  wealthy  dower 

My  true  love  to  impart ; 
I  bid  her  from  a  sphere  to  come 

That  far  is  mine  above ; 
Yet  shall  not  this  impair  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love ! 

She  will  not  grieve  a  home  to  leave 

Magnificent  in  pride, 
In  lowly  cot  to  share  my  lot, 

Obscurely  there  to  hide ; 
Though  desolate  of  friend  or  mate, 

Save  me  and  GOD  above, 
Yet  shall  not  this  impair  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love. 

She  has  been  nurst  among  the  first 

And  proudest  of  the  land, 
Where  from  her  head  all  danger  fled, 

At  fortune's  magic  wand : 
But  ill  my  bower  in  stormy  hour 

Can  shield  my  gentle  dove ; 
Yet  shall  not  this  impair  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love. 


WEDDED    LOVE.  H3 

I  every  day  a  tender  lay 

Shall  waken  to  her  name, 
And  every  night  to  throne  of  might 

Shall  kneel  to  bless  the  same ; 
For  years  and  years,  through  smiles  and  tears, 

I  '11  prize  her  all  above ; 
And  well  shall  this  insure  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love. 


DOMESTIC  PIECES. 


DOMESTIC  PIECES. 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  GREETING  TO  MY  DAUGHTER. 

So  it  is  gone ! — another  year ! 

A  drop  of  time  lost  in  the  sea 

Of  dark  and  deep  eternity, 
In  which  we  all  must  disappear ! 
Well,  since  so  transient  our  career, 
The  blessings  that  attend  the  way 
More  precious  grow  with  every  day : 

So  is  it  with  my  EVELINE, 

And  ever  was  since  she  was  mine ; 
Since  first  she  nestled  on  my  breast, 
And  on  its  beatings  rocked  to  rest ; 
And  when  her  little  arms  at  length 
To  twine  around  me  gathered  strength, 
And  her  young  eyes  replied  to  mine 
With  love's  intelligence  divine ; 
When  first  her  lips  began  to  frame 


118  A  NEW-YEAE'S  GKEETTNG. 

Sweet  murmurings  of  a  father's  name ; 
Or  with  more  eloquence  of  love 

Those  rosy  lips  to  mine  were  prest — 
Oh,  closer  still  I  clasped  my  dove, 

And  could  have  died  so  very  blest ! 

Years  passed — the  infant  passed  from  sight- 
A  glorious  child  stood  in  her  place, 

With  golden  curls  and  eyes  of  light, 
And  fairy  form  and  seraph  face ; 

Her  feet  went  dancing  as  they  trod, 
In  fullness  of  her  heart's  delight ; 

Her  voice  sent  carols  up  to  God — 

I  heard  it  not,  but  God  knows  best — 
I  felt  so  happy,  sure  HE  smiled 
In  love  on  father  as  on  child : 

I  know  it,  for  we  have  been  blest ! 
And  though  at  times  we  feel  His  rod, 

He  blest  us,  and  we  shall  be  blest ! 

My  child,  my  friend,  my  playmate  dear ! 

And  dearer  still  with  every  year, 

Since  more  and  more  I  seem  to  find 

An  answering  sympathy  of  mind, 

My  pleasures,  hopes,  and  views  that  shares, 

In  part,  my  studies  and  my  cares ! 

Oh,  while  we  live,  can  each  depend 

At  least  on  one  unfailing  friend ! 


A  NEW-YEAR'S  GREETING.  ng 


For  friendship,  like  a  dream  expires, 
And  love  itself  burns  out  its  fires ; 
But  who,  my  child,  shall  rend  apart 
The  links  that  bind  us  heart  to  heart  ? 
I  '11  hold  thee  fast,  whate'er  my  lot, 
My  child !  my  friend  that  faileth  not ! 
And  thou — betide  thee  good  or  ill — 
Cling  to  me  close  and  closer  still, 
And  lay  thy  head  upon  my  breast, 
Thy  refuge,  and  thy  place  of  rest ! 

Roll  on,  ye  years !  if,  as  ye  roll, 

Ye  bring  more  treasures  to  her  soul ! 

I  know  not,  and  I  care  not  much, 

How  she  may  look  to  other  eyes — 
I  praise  her  not  for  form  or  face ; 

More  happy  far  to  recognize 
The  beauty  which  alone  can  touch 

The  soul — the  mind's  immortal  grace ; 
The  heart,  unknown  to  sin's  control ; 

The  spirit  robed  in  light  divine, 
Still  soaring  to  its  native  place ; — 

These  be  thy  glories,  EVELINE  ! 
The  wings  that  yet  shall  lift  thee  far 

Above  the  bondage  of  our  clay, 
And  make  thee  as  the  Morning  Star, 

That  shineth  unto  perfect  day! 


120  TO   MY    WIFE. 

TO  MY  WIFE. 

THE  winds  of  March  are  loose  again, 

And  shrinking,  from  the  piercing  air, 
I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  pain 

That  I  have  borne,  and  yet  may  bear ; 
But  while  the  scenes  return  to  view, 

Which  seemed  to  be  my  last  on  earth, 
Returns  the  heavenly  picture  too 

Of  all  thy  love  and  all  thy  worth ! 

Thy  matchless  love,  that  bore  thee  up 

Through  trials  few  have  heart  to  brave ; 
That  shrank  not  from  the  bitter  cup 

Of  anguish,  which  my  anguish  gave ; 
That,  while  thy  noble  heart  was  wrung 

With  pity,  tenderness,  and  grief, 
Still  o'er  my  couch  of  suffering  hung, 

To  give  me  comfort  and  relief. 

A  common  love  might  weep  and  sigh, 

To  spare  its  grief,  my  presence  shun 
And  in  its  weakness  let  me  die, 

Lamented  much,  but  aided  none ; 
Thy  nobler  nature  rose  above 

All  trials,  so  they  gave  me  aid, 
And  on  the  altar  of  thy  love 

Thy  heart  a  sacrifice  was  laid. 


TO    MY    WIFE.  121 

Thy  sighs  were  hushed,  thy  tears  supprest, 

Lest  I  thy  sorrow  should  divine ; 
Thy  eyes  refused  their  needful  rest, 

To  watch  the  fitful  sleep  of  mine : 
No  sharer  in  a  task  so  dear 

And  sacred  would  thy  love  allow ; 
By  day  and  night,  still  hovering  near, 

My  "  MIXISTERIKG  ANGEL  "  thou ! 

Thou  wast  my  dearest  hope  on  earth 

Since  first  I  met  thy  welcome  sight ; 
But  nevei  had  I  known  thy  worth 

Till  in  affliction's  darkest  night : 
Oh,  then  thy  peerless  goodness  shone, 

A  star  amid  the  gloom  profound, 
Dispersed  the  clouds  above  me  thrown, 

And  scattered  heavenly  radiance  round. 

The  God  of  mercy  heard  thy  prayer, 

When  hope  itself  receded  fast, 
And  gave  to  thy  unwearied  care 

The  life  that  seemed  already  past ; 
That  life  I  ever  would  employ 

To  bless  thee,  and  thy  love  repay, — 
To  give  thee  comfort,  peace,  and  joy, — 

To  be  thy  friend,  thy  shield,  thy  stay. 

I  will  not  at  the  past  repine, 

Though  f he  remembrance  wakes  a  sigh — 


122  SHE    CALLS   ME   FATHER. 

To  know  the  worth  of  love  like  thine 
'T  were  well  to  suffer  or  to  die ! 

But  ah !  at  once  its  worth  to  know 
And  to  enjoy  its  fullness,  live! 

No  greater  favor  heaven  can  show, 
And  earth  has  nothing  more  to  give. 


SHE  CALLS  ME  FATHER. 

SUE  calls  me  "  father !  " — though  my  ear 

That  thrilling  name  shall  never  hear, 

Yet  to  my  heart  affection  brings 

The  sound  in  sweet  imaginings ; 

I  feel  its  gushing  music  roll 

The  stream  of  rapture  on  my  soul ; 

And  when  she  starts  to  welcome  me, 

And  when  she  totters  to  my  knee, 

And  when  she  climbs  it  to  embrace 

My  bosom  for  a  hiding-place, 

And  when  she  nestling  there  reclines, 

And  with  her  arms  my  neck  entwines, 

And  when  her  lips  of  roses  seek 

To  press  their  sweetness  on  my  cheek, 

Or  when  upon  my  careful  breast 

I  lull  her  to  her  cherub  rest, 

The  heart  to  which  I  hold  my  dove 

Swells  with  unutterable  love ! 


MY    LITTLE   DAUGHTERS    WELCOME.  123 


MY  LITTLE  DAUGHTER'S  WELCOME. 

THE  world  looks  pleasantly  and  bright 

Upon  my  new-born  child ; 
The  fields  and  skies  are  bathed  in  light, 

The  air  is  fresh  and  mild ; 
And  it  would  seem  all  heaven  and  earth 
Were  gracious  to  my  darling's  birth ! 

May  this  her  future  lot  foreshow ! 

Still  may  her  skies  be  bright ; 
And  every  scene  she  treads  below 

Be  pleasant  to  her  sight. 
So  may  she  live  on  earth  beloved 
And  cherished,  and  by  heaven  approved ! 

May  all  that  smiles  upon  her  now, 

Smile  on  her  to  the  end ; 
And  when  upon  her  placid  brow 

The  shades  of  death  descend, 
To  everlasting  life  reborn, 
May  she  salute  a  brighter  morn  ! 


124  A  FATHER'S  DIEGE. 


A  FATHER'S  DIRGE. 

MY  hopes  are  blighted,  and  I  feel 
An  anguish  I  may  not  reveal ; 

And  fain  I  would  retire  apart 
Where  common  eyes  may  not.  intrude, 
Who  care  not  for  the  sanctitude 

Of  sorrow  in  a  father's  heart. 
But  I  have  duties  to  perform 

To  others,  who  have  claims  as  strong, 
And  still  must  struggle  with  the  storm 
Of  life  amid  the  careless  throng ; 
And  veil  the  secret  of  my  breast 
With  smile  for  smile,  and  jest  for  jest, 
While  fain  I  would  sink  down  to  rest 

Beside  my  darling's  clay! 
Yes — for  my  wife  and  children's  sake, 
I  '11  bid  my  energies  awake, 
And  nerve  the  heart  that  swells  to  break, 

To  be  their  shield  and  stay. 

But,  oh !  the  sorrow,  when  I  come 
From  weary  work  to  lonely  home, 
To  miss  that  face,  whose  pleasant  sight 


125 


Gave  to  that  home  a  heavenly  light ! 
At  hour  of  rest,  how  sad  to  miss 
The  comfort  of  her  parting  kiss ! 
And  every  morning  when  I  wake 
This  lonely  heart  is  nigh  to  break, 
For  ever  when  I  rose  from  sleep, 

Beside  me  smiled  her  cherub  face, 
And  close  and  closer  she  would  creep 

To  nestle  in  my  heart's  embrace ! 
But  now  at  every  wonted  spot 
I  seek  her,  and  I  find  her  not ; 
Save  that  at  times  before  my  eyes 
Distempered,  fancy  bids  her  rise 
As  last  I  saw  her,  night  and  day 
Gasping  her  little  life  away ! 
And  then  my  anguish  and  despair 
Become  too  terrible  to  bear ! 

Yet,  my  beloved !  though  I  must  mourn, 

And  nothing  can  my  grief  beguile, 
I  should  rejoice  that  thou  wast  born 

To  bless  me  though  but  for  a  while. 
The  love  that  lightened  up  thy  eyes, 

And  smiled  on  thy  angelic  face, 
Was  such  a  glimpse  of  Paradise, 

As  though  but  for  a  little  space, 
A  sacred  influence  has  left 
Of  which  we  cannot  be  bereft, 


126  A   FATHERS   DIRGE. 

And  tell  us  what  the  heavens  must  be 
That  for  a  moment  lent  us  thee, 
And  fires  our  zeal  to  persevere 
To  meet  thee  in  that  better  sphere, 
"Where  yet  we  trust  redeemed  to  stand 
And  lead  our  darling  by  the  hand, 
Thou  best  of  all  our  hearts  held  dear ! 

If  thou  canst  see  us  from  above, 
At  last  thou  knowest  all  the  love, 

Nor  words  nor  tears  could  tell ; 
Thou  readest  in  thy  father's  heart, 
Of  which  thou  wast  the  dearest  part, 

A  love  unspeakable ! 
And  thou  dost  love  me,  my  sweet  child, 
And  thy  affections  from  the  skies 
Come  down  to  bless  me,  till  I  rise 
To  meet  them  pure  and  undefiled ; 
Oh,  let  me  then  be  reconciled, 
And  conquer  passion's  bitterness, 

For  why  should  we  deplore 
That  earth  has  now  one  sufferer  less, 

And  heaven  one  angel  more! 

The  sun  rose  glorious  on  thy  birth, 
As  if  he  welcomed  thee  to  day, 

And  shone  as  glorious,  when  to  earth 
"We  gave  thy  cold  unconscious  clay. 


A  FATHER'S  DIRGE.  127 


I  saw  him  on  his  noonday  throne, 

In  summer's  proudest  hour, 
And  thought  of  all  he  looked  upon, 

Thou  wast  the  fairest  flower ! 
Where  art  thou  now  ? 

Nay,  it  is  weak, 

'T  is  wrong,  that  gloomy  grave  to  seek! — 
Let  Faith  and  Hope  unveil  the  skies 
A  moment  to  affection's  eyes ! 
Look  up,  my  soul !  and  there  behold 
A  heavenly  form  with  locks  of  gold, 
That  shade  a  brow  divinely  bright, 
And  float  upon  her  wings  of  light ; 
All  Paradise  is  in  her  face, 
And  in  her  smile  celestial  grace ; 
She  looks  iipon  us  from  above 
With  pity  and  undying  love, 
And  gently  beckons  to  her  home — 
I  come,  my  Anna ! — soon  I  come ! 
And  till  we  meet,  will  strive  and  pray 
To  keep  upon  the  only  way, 
Nor  more  repine  that  thou  dost  rest 
Upon  a  Heavenly  Father's  breast ! 


128  THE    WATCHES    OF   THE   NIGHT. 


THE  WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 

IN  the  watches  of  the  night, 

When  the  world  is  hushed  to  sleep, 

Comes  my  anguish  strong  and  deep, 
Like  a  torrent  at  its  height, 
Rushing  with  resistless  might, 

Every  barrier  down  to  sweep ; 
Parts  the  darkness  like  a  veil, 

And  reveals  my  dying  dove, 
With  her  patient  face  and  pale, 

And  her  sweet  blue  eyes  of  love, 
Sadly  looking  into  mine, 
Till  they  every  look  resign. 
Now  returns  the  scene  of  death — 
Slowly  gasps  away  her  breath ; 
Now  the  lips  that  were  my  bliss 
Move  as  for  a  parting  kiss ; 
Now  she  gives  a  feeble  start, 
As  to  nestle  to  my  heart ! 

How  its  breaking  fibres  thrill ! 
AH  is  over ! — from  my  sight 
Fades  the  vision  of  the  night, 

And  the  night  is  darker  still ! 


THE   WATCHES    OF   THE   NIGHT.  129 

Day  returns — thou  swelling  breast, 
Hush !  and  hide  thy  sacred  guest ! 

Forth  into  the  world  I  go — 
HoUow  laugh  and  ribald  jest 

Round  me  bandy  to  and  fro ; 
And  I  look  and  list  the  while 
With  a  forced  and  feeble  smile, 

Bitter  mockery  of  woe ! 
Common  talk  of  common  things, 
Like  the  buzz  of  insect  wings, 
Brushes  o'er  my  Aveary  mind, 
And  I  answer  in  some  kind, 

What  I  hardly  care  or  know. 

Nay,  my  soul,  this  is  not  Avell ! 

Rouse  thee  from  thy  stern  despair, 
Crush  the  thoughts  that  would  rebel, 

Nobly  bear  what  thou  must  bear ! 
Leave  it  to  the  common  crew 

In  their  sorrow  to  be  weak  ; — 

In  the  might  of  anguish  seek 
Might  to  bear  and  might  to  do ; 
Gather  up  thy  inmost  strength — 

To  some  earnest  task  apply ; 
So  shalt  thoii  escape  at  length 

Thoughts  that  else  would  bid  me  die ! 


130  THE   WATCHES    OF   THE   NIGHT. 

THOU  from  whom  all  blessings  came ! 
THOU  who  dost  at  will  reclaim ! 
THOU  who  the  GREAT  FATHEK  art, 
And  in  every  parent's  breast 
Strongest  feelings  hast  imprest, 
Sweetest,  purest,  holiest, 
Yet  canst  rend  a  parent's  heart, 
Snapping  ah1  its  links  apart ! 
THOU  who  didst  the  boon  bestow, 

Once  my  comfort,  hope,  and  pride, 
Yet  removed  it  at  a  blow — 

May  that  blow  be  sanctified ! 
Though  my  heart  is  sorely  tried — 

Though  my  hopes  are  in  the  dust, 
In  Thy  wisdom  I  confide, 

In  Thy  boundless  mercy  trust ! 


MY    BOY.  131 


MY    BOY. 

MY  boy !  my  boy !  what  hopes  and  fears 
Are  prophets  of  thy  future  years ! 
How  many  smiles — how  many  tears 

Shall  glisten  o'er  this  face ! 
This  eye,  so  innocently  bright, 
May  kindle  with  a  wilder  light, 

In  pleasure's  maddening  chase : 
This  brow,  where  quiet  fancies  lie, 
May  proudly  lift  itself  on  high, 

In  fierce  ambition's  race ; 
This  form,  so  beautiful,  so  blithe, 
May  waste  in  sickness,  or  may  writhe 

In  agony's  embrace ; 
This  cheek  may  lose  its  healthful  blush, 
For  sorrow's  languor,  passion's  flush, 

Or  thought's  corrosive  trace ; — 
But  of  all  evils  that  may  come, 
My  prayer  the  most  would  shield  thee  from 

The  guilty  or  the  base. 
Thy  heritage  is  but  my  name ; 
Then  prize  its  purity  of  fame, 

And  shield  it  from  disgrace ; 


132  MY    BOY. 

And  if  that  name  have  some  renown, 
May  it  be  thine  a  brighter  crown 

Upon  it  yet  to  place ! 
For  should  a  prouder  wreath  be  thine 

Than  ever  was  or  shall  be  mine, 

The  more  will  be  my  joy — 
The  vanity  of  fame  I  've  found ; 
Still  could  I  wish  its  laurels  crowned, 

My  boy !  my  only  boy ! 

And  yet,  should  genius  never  roll 
Its  inspiration  on  thy  soul, 

Nor  gift  thee  with  the  might 
To  unage  such  creations  forth 
As  crown  the  "  Minstrel  of  the  North,"  * 

Imperishably  bright ; 
Or  with  a  Shakspeare's  muse  of  fire 
Up  to  the  highest  heaven  aspire, 

The  sun  of  every  sight — 
If  science  shall  not  in  thy  mind 
Unfold  a  beacon  to  mankind, 

Amid  the  mental  night ; 
Or  if  thy  arm  shall  never  wield 
A  hero's  sword,  on  conquest's  field, 

To  guard  thy  country's  right — 
If  all  the  glorious  hopes  be  vain 
That  often  float  athwart  my  brain 

*  Walter  Scott. 


A   VALENTINE   TO    MY    WIFE.  133 

In  visions  of  delight — 
Still  thou  as  fully  canst  complete 
The  hope — of  all  most  dear  and  sweet 

That  may  my  mind  employ — 
All  other  wreaths  I  can  resign, 
So  virtue's  trophies  may  be  thine, 

My  boy !  my  only  boy ! 


A  VALENTINE  TO  MY  WIFE. 

TWELVE  years  ago !  how  swift  their  flight, 

Since  first  thy  fate  was  linked  with  mine ; 
How  much  they  brought  of  dark  or  bright 
To  crown  thy  love,  or  prove  its  might, 
My  faithful  Valentine ! 

Twelve  years  ago,  my  chosen  bride ! 

How  proud  was  I  to  call  thee  mine ! 
But  more  my  love,  and  more  my  pride, 
Since  years  on  years  thy  worth  have  tried, 
My  precious  Valentine ! 


134  A   VALENTINE   TO   MY    WIFE. 

It  may  be  sorrow  and  despair 

At  times  have  wrung  this  heart  of  mine ; 
But  to  thy  love  I  could  repair, 
And  find  my  peace  and  solace  there, 
My  sweetest  Valentine ! 

And  every  joy  that  I  may  know, 

When  kinder  fortune  seems  to  shine, 
Wins  from  thy  smile  a  brighter  glow — 
To  see  thee  happy  makes  me  so, 
My  dearest  Valentine ! 

Sweet  mother  of  the  cherub  boy, 

Round  whom  our  fondest  hopes  entwine ! 
May  he  his  coming  years  employ 
To  be  thy  comfort,  pride,  and  joy, 
And  bless  my  Valentine ! 


M5T   BABE.  135 


MY    BABE. 

MY  babe !  my  own,  my  precious  babe ! 

"When  I  behold  thy  charms, 
And  look  upon  the  mother  sweet 

That  folds  thee  in  her  arms, 
It  seems  to  me  as  I  possessed 

The  richest  treasures  here — 
For  she  is  best  of  all  the  best, 

Thou,  dearest  of  the  dear ! 

My  babe !  I  have  but  little  store 

Of  what  most  mortals  prize ; 
And  thousands  pranked  in  pomp  and  pride 

My  humbler  lot  despise — 
Yet  thinking  of  my  wife  and  child, 

A  prouder  head  I  rear, 
Blest  with  the  best  of  all  the  best 

And  dearest  of  the  dear ! 

My  babe !  thou  hast  no  heritage 

Except  thy  father's  name, 
Which  in  misfortune's  worst  despite 

Has  won  its  way  to  fame ; 


136  MY   BABE. 

And  fame  is  only  precious,  that 

It  serves  the  lot  to  cheer 
Of  these,  the  best  of  all  the  best, 

And  dearest  of  the  dear. 

My  babe !  if  all  my  little  store 

Should  in  a  moment  end, 
Should  slander  blast  thy  father's  fame — 

Forsake  him  every  friend, — 
Thy  mother  spared  and  thou,  his  head 

Above  the  storm  would  rear, 
Blest  with  the  best  of  all  the  best, 

And  dearest  of  the  dear ! 

My  babe !  in  all  thy  path  of  life 

Thy  mother's  steps  pursue, 
And  let  the  pattern  of  her  worth 

Be  ever  in  thy  view ; 
So  shall  thy  father's  heart  be  glad 

And  proud  of  thy  career, 
And  thou  be  best  of  all  the  best, 

And  dearest  of  the  dear ! 


MY   DARLING   LITTLE   MARY.  137 


MY  DARLING  LITTLE  MARY. 

WHEN"  childhood  shall  have  flown  away, 

Aiid  youth  its  bloom  shall  lend  thee, 
May  all  the  bliss  of  childhood's  day 

And  innocence  attend  thee ; 
Nor  may  a  heart  so  pure  and  blest 

For  guilt  or  sorrow  vary, 
That  now  are  strangers  to  thy  breast, 

My  darling  little  Mary. 

"When  beauty's  glow  is  on  thee  thrown, 

May  it  be  thy  endeavor 
Not  outward  charms  to  win  alone, 

But  those  that  perish  never. 
Since  all  the  charms  that  meet  the  eye 

Are  not  more  bright  than  airy, 
Be  thine  the  charms  that  never  die, 

My  darling  little  Mary. 

On  earth  may  Mary  long  repay 

The  fondness  of  a  mother ; 
And  from  this  world  when  called  away 

By  death  to  seek  another, 
May  angels  her  pure  spirit  bear 

To  bliss  that  cannot  vary, 
And  may  a  mother  welcome  there 

Her  darling  little  Mary ! 


138 


THE  MOTHER'S  PRIDE. 

YES,  she  is  beautiful  indeed ! 

The  soft  blue  eyes,  the  golden  hair, 
The  brow  where  pleasant  thoughts  we  read, 

The  radiant  smile,  the  winning  air, 
The  cherub  form  of  perfect  grace, 

Whose  fairy  steps  in  music  glide — 
And  oh !  that  sweet,  that  heavenly  face ! 

Well  may  she  be  her  mother's  pride ! 

Yet  may  she  nobler  pride  awake 

Than  all  external  charms  impart ; 
'T  is  not  alone  for  beauty's  sake 

We  hold  her  in  our  hnnost  heart — 
Her  sunny  soul,  her  spotless  mind, 

Where  comes  no  thought  to  shun  or  hide, 
Her  artless  love,  her  feelings  kind, 

Have  made  her  more  her  mother's  pride. 

Then  come  to  me,  my  blue-eyed  child, 

And  bending  o'er  my  shoulder,  fling 
Thy  golden  tresses,  rolling  wild, 

In  many  a  soft  and  sunny  ring ! 
Look  up  in  fondness  to  my  face, 

And  thine  upon  my  bosom  hide, — 
Close — closer,  to  my  heart's  embrace, 

My  sweetest  joy! — my  fondest  piide ! 


THE   FONT.  139 

THE    FONT. 

No  boon  that  fortune  can  impart 

May  with  a  gracious  child  compare ; 
It  winds  into  the  parent's  heart, 

And  twines  with  every  fibre  there. 

When  to  my  arms  my  children  spring, 

Or  on  my  breast  their  heads  recline, 
Or  to  my  lips  of  love  they  cling, 

No  joy  on  earth  can  equal  mine. 

Yet  e'en  on  these  so  fair  and  dear, 

"Whose  looks  are  more  of  heaven  than  earth, 

Some  shadow  will  at  tunes  appear, 

Some  stain  that  speaks  of  mortal  birth. 

But  there  is  an  immortal  stream 

That  cleanseth  every  stain  away; 
And  where  those  living  waters  gleam, 

All  darkness  brightens  into  day. 

And  thither  we  our  children  bring, 

To  Him  who  said,  "  Forbid  them  not ! " 

That  He  within  that  sacred  spring, 

May  cleanse  their  souls  from  every  spot. 

SAVIOUR  of  all !  who  in  the  charms 

Of  childhood  once  this  world  hast  trod! 

We  bring  our  treasures  to  Thy  arms, 
And  dedicate  them  to  our  GOD  ! 


140  THE   NAMES AKE. 


THE  NAMESAKE. 

I  HAVE  a  little  daughter 

Is  only  two  years  old, 
Her  eyes  are  blue  as  heaven, 

Her  locks  like  sunny  gold ! 
Her  soft  and  fair  complexion 

Might  every  heart  enthrall, 
But 't  is  her  sweet  affection 

I  value  more  than  all ; 
For  dearly  does  she  love  me, 

And  in  my  heart  I  hold 
My  charming  little  daughter, 

That 's  only  two  years  old. 

In  other  years  to  bless  me 

A  youthful  vision  came, 
As  lovely  and  bewitching 

As  one  who  bears  her  name ; 
And  while  upon  my  daughter 

I  look  with  fondest  gaze, 
Again  returns  the  vision 

That  blest  my  early  days ! 
While  nestling  on  my  bosom 

Looks  up  her  face  serene, 
It  seems  that  GOD  restores  me 

My  long-lost  JOSEPHIXE  ! 


THE   NAMESAKE.  141 

Oh !  that  it  were  no  vision ! 

That  I  might  near  thee  stand. 
Again  thy  fairy  fingers 

To  clasp  in  friendship's  hand ! 
Oh,  wert  thou  but  a  moment 

Returned  to  my  embrace ! 
Oh,  that  I  but  a  moment 

Could  see  thee  face  to  face ! 
Look  in  thy  eyes'  blue  heaven, 

The  golden  curls  remove, 
And  press  on  thy  pure  forehead 

The  seal  of  perfect  love ! 


142          ON   THE   DEATH    OF   A   YOUNG    SISTER. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  SISTER. 

BUT  yesterday  a  child  of  pain, 

That  saddened  pity's  eye — 
To-day,  a  seraph  called  to  reign 

Above  the  stars  on  high ! 
Well  might  the  suffering  move  our  tears, 

Which  she  endured  below ; 
But  now  that  heaven  her  soul  inspheres, 

Those  tears  should  cease  to  flow." 

Why  should  we  her  release  deplore 

From  fate's  relentless  arm  ? 
Why  grieve  that  she  shall  grieve  no  more  ? 

As  if  we  wished  her  harm ! 
Away  with  the  repining  tear, 

The  ingrate  sigh  forbear, 
Which  if  she  up  in  heaven  could  hear, 

Would  grieve  her  even  there ! 

Yet  Nature's  voice,  more  mighty  far 

Than  all  the  rest  can  say, 
Still  calls  us  from  the  radiant  star, 

Down  to  the  mouldering  clay ; 


ON   THE   DEATH    OF    A   YOUNG   SISTER.         143 

And  not  in  words  the  magic  lies, 

To  calm  the  anguish  wild, 
Of  one  whose  lonely  heart  replies, — 

"  It  was  my  child !  my  child ! " 

And  GOD,  who  knows  a  mother's  heart — 

Permits  a  mother's  tears, 
When  from  the  cherub  doomed  to  part, 

The  holiest  tie  endears ; 
And  JESUS  an  example  gave, 

All  feeling  hearts  accept ; 
Weep  on — for  at  Aflection's  grave, 

The  PEINCE  OF  GLOEY  wept ! 

That  we  have  lost  her  we  may  weep ; 

Yet  knowing  she  is  blest — 
That  all  her  cares  are  hushed  to  sleep 

Upon  her  SAVIOUR'S  breast — 
That  thought  with  its  consoling  power, 

Amid  our  tears  shall  gleam, 
Like  rainbow  in  a  summer  shower, 

Or  moonlight  on  a  stream. 

Her  calm  submission  to  the  rod, 

Which  made  all  else  repine, 
Revealed  her  as  a  child  of  GOD, 

While  yet  on  earth,  divine ! 
With  sweetest  thoughts  of  heavenly  birth, 

Her  sainted  mind  was  fed, 


144         ON   THE   DEATH    OF   A    YOUNG   SISTER. 

Which  flung  a  glory,  not  of  earth, 
Around  her  dying  bed ! 

May  we  from  her  example  learn 

Submission  to  our  lot, 
And  to  the  Rock  of  Ages  turn, 

Whose  promise  faileth  not ! 
So  shall  our  sorrows  pave  the  way 

To  the  eternal  home, 
Where  our  beloved  has  gone  to-day, 

And  seems  to  whisper,  "  Come ! " 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


TO  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

FEIEND  of  my  heart ! — friend  of  the  human  race ! 
Though  I  may  never  gaze  upon  thy  face, 
Nor  clasp  the  hand  that  has  such  wonders  penned ; 
Yet  when  entranced  by  thy  prevailing  spell, 
I  watch  the  ebbing  life  of  gentle  Paul^ 
Or  looking  up,  as  at  an  angel's  call, 
Pursue  the  heavenward  flight  of  "Little  Ndl, " 
Heart  leaps  to  heart,  and  I  embrace  my  FELEJTD  ! 

It  hath  been  given  to  thy  hand  to  trace 
Ah1  that  is  good  and  glorious  in  our  race  ; 
As  with  an  "  angel's  ken"  thou  hast  divined 
The  riches  in  the  human  heart  enshrined ; 
Crowns,  sceptres,  laurel  wreaths,  or  robes  of  state, 
Thy  genius  needs  not  to  reveal  the  great. 

Greatness  is  only  greatness  in  itself, — 
It  rests  not  in  externals,  nor  its  worth 


148  TO   CHAELES   DICKENS. 

Derives  from  gorgeous  pomp,  or  glittering  pelf, 
Or  chance  of  arms,  or  accident  of  birth ; 

It  lays  its  deep  foundations  in  the  soul, 
And  piles  a  tower  of  virtues  to  the  skies, 

Around  whose  pinnacle  majestic,  roll 

The  clouds  of  glory,  starred  with  angel  eyes ! 

Such  is  the  lofty  lesson  thou  hast  taught, 
But  still  diviner  blessings  hast  thou  wrought ; 
Like  light  from  heaven,  thy  genius  has  unveiled 
Affection's  deepest  mystery  of  grief, 
And  to  despairing  sorrow  brought  relief, 
Where  reason  and  philosophy  had  failed, 
By  opening  the  fountains  of  the  heart : 
And  therefore  distant  strangers  give  thee  part 
In  their  affections,  as  a  household  guest, 
Who  shares  the  sacred  secret  of  their  breast. 

There  is  a  sorrow  that  can  never  die ; 

There  is  a  loss  we  never  can  forget, 
Yet  can  it  purify  and  sanctify, 

And  mingle  heavenly  solace  with  regret ; 
And  therefore  do  we  love  thee  and  thy  page, 
Which  moves  our  tears,  but  moves  them  to  assuage ; 
And  therefore  do  I  hail  thee  as  my  friend, 

And  yield  the  tribute  of  a  grateful  heart ; 
Though  humble  is  the  offering  I  send, 

Affection  may  some  little  worth  impart. 


PASSING   THE    CHURCH.  149 


PASSING  THE  CHURCH. 

OFT  as  I  pass  St.  Thomas'  Church, 

A  kindly  glance  I  throw 
Where  sleeps  a  friend  I  daily  met, 

"  Some  twenty  years  ago. " 

And  thinking  of  those  happy  times, 

As  slowly  past  I  wend, 
I  scarce  forbear  to  touch  my  hat, 

And  say,  "  Good  morning,  friend ! " 

Nor  is  it  with  uncheerful  mind 

That  I  his  memory  greet — 
More  years  have  past  since  we  have  met 

Than  shall  before  we  meet. 

And  sweetly  placid  seems  his  rest, 

Though  near  his  silent  bed 
The  tide  of  life  rolls  thundering  by, 

As  it  would  wake  the  dead. 

Who  knows  but  yet  some  consciousness 

May  linger  under  ground  ? 
Who  knows  but  yet,  with  genial  smile, 

He  looks  on  all  around  ? 


150  PASSING   THE   CHURCH. 

The  busy  throngs,  beset  with  cares 

It  once  was  his  to  know — 
The  dashing  belles,  who  rival  those 

He  loved  so  long  ago. 

And  hark  the  heavy  tramp  of  steeds — 
Of  men  the  measured  tread — 

The  clang  of  trumps — the  roll  of  drums — 
Wake,  soldier ! — lift  thy  head ! 

Bright  weapons  glitter  in  the  sun ; 

Proud  banners  flout  the  sky ; 
Up,  soldier !  mount  thy  prancing  steed, 

And  wave  thy  sword  on  high ! 

In  vain — Earth  could  not  tempt  him  back 
With  all  that  pleased  him  best — 

For  better  worth  than  all  she  gave, 
His  calm  and  quiet  rest ! 

And,  therefore,  in  the  city's  midst, 

Serenely  doth  he  lie, 
Regardless  of  the  storm  of  life 

That  rushes  madly  by. 

For  me — far  from  the  city's  din, 

Be  mine  some  rustic  tomb, 
Where  trees  shall  wave  above  the  sod, 

And  flowers  around  it  bloom. 


PASSING   THE    CHUECH.  151 

Life's  bustling  scenes  have  been  to  me 

But  scenes  of  pain  and  care — 
I  would  not  have  them  round  my  bed, 

When  I  am  sleeping  there ! 

Yet  friendly  steps  will  seek  my  grave, 

Wherever  that  may  be ; 
And  loving  lips  shall  bless  my  name, 

As  now — unheard  by  me ! 

No  want  of  fervent  tears  or  prayers, 

Could  those  recall  me  here — 
But  what  can  love  or  friendship  say 

To  death's  regardless  ear  ? 

Up,  Poet ! — GLORY  bids  thee  rise ! — 

Death  shah1  not  keep  thee  down ! 
Up,  Poet ! — strike  the  harp  divine, 

And  wear  the  immortal  crown ! 

Rise ! — Earth  restores  all  thou  hast  lost — 

Fame — fortune — beauty's  smile ! 
Unheeded  proffers ! — though  the  last 

Might  tempt  me  for  a  while ! 

But  speak  not  thou,  my  chosen  one  ! 

Of  all  beloved  the  best ! 
For  Love  is  stronger  than  the  grave ! 

And  thine  would  break  my  rest ! 


152  THE   BEST   OF   COUNSEL. 

THE  BEST  OF  COUNSEL 

TO   THE   BEST   OF   GIRLS. 

Now  heed  my  words,  my  precious  girl ! — 
Affection  is  the  richest  pearl, 
Nor  lightly  should  be  thrown  away 
On  those  who  cannot  love  repay; 
Beware  to  whom  thou  shalt  impart 
That  priceless  jewel  of  the  heart! 
Care  not  alone  for  form  or  face, 
Or  winning  words  or  witching  grace ; 
But  choose  thou  one  whose  honored  name 
Thou  canst  be  proud  to  share  and  claim ; 
Let  it  be  one  of  cultured  mind, 
Of  generous  thoughts  and  feelings  kind, 
Who  never  sought,  nor  e'er  would  seek 
To  wrong  the  helpless  or  the  weak, 
But  ever  would  employ  his  best 
To  shield  the  friendless  and  opprest ; 
Who  proudly  treads  temptation  down, 
Nor  sinks  at  fortune's  darkest  frown ; 
Whose  equal  soul  and  mind  sedate 
Can  stand  unmoved  each  change  of  fate ; 
Whose  faith  is  firm,  whose  honor  bright, 
Whose  love  is  an  immortal  light ! 
Such  were  the  love,  and  such  alone, 
That  can  be  worthy  of  thy  own ! 


TO    GERTRUDE.  153 


TO   GERTRUDE. 

I  LOVE  thee ! — need  I  say  it  now  ? 

Not  for  the  eye  of  heavenly  blue, 
Not  for  the  fair  transparent  brow 

Which  azure  streams  meander  through,  - 
The  roseate  cheek,  the  raven  curls 

That  round  the  breathing  marble  dance,- 
For  those  adorn  a  thousand  girls 

"Who  scarce  attract  my  passing  glance ! 
Though  thine  is  beauty's  fairest  flower, 

And  all  the  magic  she  imparts, 
It  is  not  that  which  gives  thee  power 

To  wind  into  my  heart  of  hearts ! 

I  love  thee  for  thy  gentle  mind 

Where  thought  of  evil  hath  no  place, 

Thy  grateful  heart,  thy  feelings  kind, 
Thy  modesty's  bewitching  grace ! 

Thy  pure  affection's  welcome  rush, 
That  laves  my  fevered  soxtl  in  bland 

Refreshment,  like  the  fountain's  gush 

To  Arabs  'mid  the  burning  sand. 
7* 


154  TO    GERTRUDE. 

I  love  thee  by  my  perfect  trust 

In  that  affection's  perfect  truth ; 
My  hopes  have  crumbled  oft  in  dust, 

And  friends  have  failed  me  from  my  youth ; 
Though  time  may  common  hearts  estrange, 

And  common  friends  their  ties  may  break, 
There  is  a  heart  can  never  change, 

A  friend  that  never  will  forsake ! 

I  love  thee — not  with  passion's  fire, 

But  the  devotion  pure  and  high, 
A  guardian  seraph  might  inspire, 

"Who  came  with  comfort  from  the  sky ! 
There  is  a  blight  upon  my  heart, 

A  hopeless  sorrow  on  my  mind — 
But  GEBTBUDE  !  dearest !  where  thou  art 

I  seem  the  peace  of  heaven  to  find ! 

Oh  may  the  peace  of  heaven  be  thine, 

Sweet  GERTEUDE  !  be  what  may  my  lot ! 
When  life  and  thee  I  must  resign, 

Remember — yet  lament  me  not ! 
E'en  then  be  happy  in  the  thought 

That  thou  hast  loved  me  to  the  end ; 
.    For  thou  hast  been  the  boon  I  sought, — 

A  chosen  and  a  faithful  friend ! 


WOMAN'S    MINISTRY.  155 

WOMAN'S  MINISTRY. 

'T  is  true  that  love's  romantic  dreams 
Are  bright  as  heaven's  opening  gleams, 
And  give  to  life  a  charm  divine, 
That  wisdom  sorrows  to  resign ; 
Yet  much  they  err  who  seek  in  this 
The  only  or  the  highest  bliss, 
Or  deem  that  wroman's  noblest  part 
Is  but  to  give  and  win  a  heart. 
This  angel  (such  in  all  but  wings) 
"Was  born  for  higher,  holier  things, 
And  best  her  ministry  fulfills 
In  smoothing  life's  pervading  ills. 
'T  is  hers  to  soothe  the  troubled  mind, 
'T  is  hers  the  broken  heart  to  bind, 
To  turn  the  erring  soul  to  prayer, 
And  snatch  the  sinner  from  despair ; 
To  hover  round  affliction's  bed, 
With  angel  look  and  fairy  tread ; 
Receive  affection's  dying  breath, 
And  seal  the  cherished  eyes  in  death ! 
And  all  the  while  forbear  to  show 
The  sorrows  God  alone  can  know ! 
The  spirit  thus  sublimes  the  clay, 
All  selfish  taint  refines  away, 
Till  too  divine  to  be  concealed, 
The  perfect  angel  stands  revealed ! 


156      WALTER  SCOTT  AND  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


WALTER  SCOTT  AND  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

GOD  bless  thee,  Walter  Scott ! 

For  thou  hast  blest  mankind, 
And  flung  upon  their  lot 

The  brightness  of  thy  mind, 
And  filled  the  soul  with  pleasures 

None  other  can  impart, 
And  stored  the  mind  with  treasures, 

And  purified  the  heart. 

Shame  on  them  who  abuse 

Their  gifts  of  peerless  price, 
And  prostitute  the  muse 

To  passion  or  to  vice ! 
Who  pour  into  the  mind 

The  bitterness  and  gall 
Which  makes  us  hate  mankind, 

Ourselves,  and  heaven,  and  all ! 
We  leave  their  withering  page, 

For  thine,  with  healing  rife, 
The  fevered  soul  assuage, 

And  drink  the  stream  of  life ! 
Thy  shrine  is  virtue's  altar, 

Thy  fame  without  a  blot ; 
God  bless  thee,  dear  SIR  WALTER  ! 

God  bless  thee,  WALTER  SCOTT  ! 


WALTER  SCOTT  AND  WASHINGTON  IRVING       157 

One  only  son  of  light 

Attends  thy  cloudless  path, 
In  purity  as  bright 

As  thy  own  spirit  hath ; 
To  charm  away  distress, 

To  comfort,  to  delight, 
To  teach,  to  aid,  to  Mess, 

He  shares  thy  wizard  might ! 
His  muse  from  virtue's  shrine 

Hath  never  turned  astray, 
Nor  ever  breathed  a  line 

That  love  could  wish  away; 
The  temple  of  the  free 

Is  radiant  with  his  fame, 
His  country's  glory  he — 

And  IRVING  is  his  name . 

God's  blessings  on  ye  both ! 

Twin  heirs  of  glory's  prize ! 
How  often  when  I  loath 

All  that  around  me  lies, — 
When  in  the  crowded  world 

I  feel  myself  alone, 
From  all  communion  hurled 

That  by  the  rest  is  known, 
Debarred,  by  fate's  control, 

From  every  human  sound, 
And  burying  my  soul 


158       WALTEK  SCOTT  AND  WASHINGTON  IKYING. 

In  solitude  profound — 
Oh,  then,  ye  glorious  pair ! 

I  seek  the  world  ye  give, 
And  find  a  kindred  there 

With  whom  I  love  to  live, 
Your  precious  magic  nerving 

My  soul  to  bear  its  lot — 
God  bless  thee,  gentle  IKVING  ! 

God  bless  thee,  WALTER  SCOTT  ! 


THE    BELL    SONG.  159 

THE  BELL   SONG. 

PABTLY  FROM  THE  LIED  VON  DEE  GLOCKE. 

ABOVE  the  scenes  of  earthly  labor, 

In  heaven's  clear  vault,  the  blue,  the  bright, 
She  swings  on  high,  the  thunder's  neighbor, 

And  borders  on  the  world  of  light, 
Where  roll  the  stars  in  circling  mazes, 

Her  voice  responding  to  their  song, 
While  they  repeat  their  Maker's  praises, 

And  lead  the  crowned  year  along. 

Her  iron  tongue,  in  earnest  measure, 

Speaks  of  the  solemn  and  sublime, 
And  hourly  warns  us  of  the  treasure 

We  hourly  waste,  unvalued  time ! 
To  destiny  a  voice  imparting, 

She  swings,  its  changes  to  proclaim, 
And  hither,  thither,  swiftly  starting, 

Keeps  time  to  life's  inconstant  game. 

Ring  out !  ring  out  a  joyous  greeting, 

In  welcome  to  the  lovely  child, 
Whose  little  heart  begins  its  beating 

In  slumber's  arms,  the  undefiled ! 


ICO  THE   BELL   SONG. 

His  future  lot  of  gloom  or  splendor 
Is  curtained  from  his  vision  tender ; 
A  mother's  love,  her  best  adorning, 
Keeps  watch  upon  his  golden  morning. 

Years  speed  like  darts — for  scenes  of  strife 

Proud  youth  from  girlhood  fiercely  sunders, 
Plunges  into  the  storms  of  life, 

And  wanders  through  the  world  of  wonders ; 
A  stranger  to  his  father's  home 

Returning,  lo  !  in  youthful  splendor, 
All-glorious  as  an  angel  come 

From  heaven,  with  bashful  look  and  tender, 
And  blushing  like  the  orient  skies, 

The  maiden  stands  before  his  eyes ! 

His  heart  is  seized  with  nameless  yearning ; 

He  turns  aside;  alone  he  strays; 
His  eyes  with  sudden  tears  are  burning ; 

Again  he  turns  to  seek  her  gaze, 
And  blushingly  her  pathway  traces 

Until  her  greeting  makes  him  blest ; 
He  seeks  the  fairest  flower,  and  places 

Its  beauty  on  her  fairer  breast ! 

Young  love !  what  longing  hopes  unfoldeth 

Thy  golden  time !  what  joys  of  price ! 
The  eye  an  open  heaven  beholdeth, 


THE   BELL   SOXG.  161 

And  swells  the  heart  in  Paradise ! 
Young  love !  ah,  couldst  thou  ever  nourish 
The  golden  dream !  for  ever  flourish ! 

Let  him,  enthralled  by  passion  strong, 

Approve,  before  the  lasting  union, 

If  heart  with  heart  is  in  communion ; 
The  dream  is  short,  repentance  long ! 

Ring  out !  ring  out !  for  triumph  blesses 

The  youth  who  by  the  altar  stands, 
And  lovely  in  the  young  bride's  tresses 

The  nuptial  wreath  entwines  its  bands. 
Alas !  that  life's  enraptured  fire 

Should  with  the  May  of  life  decay, 
The  fairy  dreams  of  young  desire 

With  veil  and  girdle  rent  away ! 

Flits  passion's  hour ; 

Yet  love  remaineth, 
A  ripening  flower 

Which  truth  sustaineth. 
Into  hostile  life 

Man  forth  must  enter; 
In  toil  and  strife 

His  thoughts  must  centra ; 
In  planting  and  making, 
Pursuing  and  taking, 


162  THE   BELL    SONG. 

Risking  and  daring, 
Plotting  and  caring, 
And  running  his  race 
In  fortune's  chase. 

He  prospers : — fortune  rolls  a  boundless  tide ; 
His  stores  increase ;  expands  his  dwelling  wide; 

And  therein  ruleth 
The  matron  chaste, 

The  children's  mother, 
With  wisdom  graced ; 

In  her  circle  moving, 

Smiling  or  reproving, 

The  little  girl  directing, 

The  little  boy  correcting, 

She  plies  her  busy  fingers 

"With  work  that  never  lingers ; 

Her  husband's  gains  increases 

With  toil  that  never  ceases, 
And  fills  the  closets  with  fragrant  stores, 
And  spins  at  the  wheel  that  rolls  and  snores, 
And  piles  the  wardrobe's  well-polished  row 
With  the  shining  wool,  and  the  flax  of  snow, 
And  joins  with  the  showy  the  useful  ever, 
And  resteth — never ! 

The  father  with  a  glance  of  pride 

Looks  from  his  far-extended  dwelling, 


THE   BELL   SONG.  163 

And  counts  his  gains  on  every  side, 

And  views  his  stores  with  treasures  swelling ; 
Then  boasting  lifts  his  haughty  hand — 
"  Firm  as  the  earth's  foundations  stand, 
Against  misfortune's  rudest  shock, 
My  house  is  founded  on  a  rock ! " 
Vain  boast !  who  can  resist  an  hour 
To  destiny's  almighty  power ! 

Ring  out !  a  fearful  peal  ring  out, 
To  second  terror's  frantic  shout ! 

Hark !  the  crashing  thunder 

Rends  the  skies  asunder ! 
Lightnings  quiver,  flash,  and  shiver, 
And  roll  through  heaven  a  blazing  river ; 
Earth  reflects  the  burning  flood, 
Glow  the  skies  as  red  as  blood, 

But  not  with  glow  of  day ; 
Yet  the  night  is  glaring  bright 
As  the  sun's  meridian  light : 
The  clamor  of  dismay 
.    Higher  swells  and  higher ; 
Loud  and  loud  the  bell  is  rung, 
Flies  the  cry  from  tongue  to  tongue, 
"Fire!  fire!  fire!" 

Lo !  a  pyramid  of  flame  V 

Fierce  as  if  from  hell  it  came, 


1G4  THE   BELL   SONG. 

Clouds  of  smoke  aroimd  it  curled, 
Soars  as  if  to  show  the  world 

Creation's  funeral  pyre ! 
Lo !  unconquerably  strong 
Rolls  the  burning  flood  along, 
While  the  air  around  its  path 
Glows  as  with  an  oven's  wrath — 

Fire!  fire!  fire! 

Sinks  the  roof  and  totters  wall, 

Pillars  shake  and  columns  fall ; 

Treasure  won  by  toil  of  years 

In  a  moment  disappears ; 

All  are  running,  rushing,  flying, 

Shouting,  shrieking,  trembling,  crying ; 

Beneath  the  smoking  ruins  crushed 

The  beast  is  moaning, 

The  child  is  groaning, 
Till  both  in  suffocation  hushed. 

But  steady  stand  an  active  band — 
The  buckets  fly  from  hand  to  hand, 
And  from  the  toiling  engine  rushes 
A  cataract  in  showery  gushes : 

In  vain — in  vain — 

The  splashing  rain 
The  mighty  element  devours 
In  scorn ; — then  gathering  up  its  powers 

As  if  from  laboring  earth 


THE   BELL   SONG.  165 

A  Titan  struggled  into  birth, 

Towers  giant-like  on  high ; 
And  helpless,  to  its  godlike  strength 
Man  yields  the  hopeless  strife  at  length, 

And  stands  all  idly  by, 
While  the  possessions,  late  his  trust, 
Melt  like  a  shriveled  scroll  in  dust. 

One  backward  glance  he  calmly  throws 

Upon  his  fortune's  grave, 
Then  turns  away  in  stern  repose, 

His  coming  fate  to  brave. 
Though  destiny  her  power  has  proved, 

She  spares  him  still  the  best  of  blisses ; 
He  counts  the  heads  of  his  beloved, 

And  lo !  not  one  dear  head  he  misses ! 

Ring  out !  ring  out ! 

Sad  and  slow 
Tolls  the  bell 

The  dirge  of  woe, 

In  solemn  train,  a  band  of  mourning  friends 
A  wanderer  to  the  home  of  all  attends. 
Alas !  the  wife !  the  fond,  the  cherished ! 
The  faithful  mother !  she  has  perished ! 
From  her  husband's  arms  for  ever 
The  Prince  of  Terrors  bids  her  sever, 
And  bears  her  with  his  shadowy  hand, 


160  THE   BELL   SONG. 

From  amid  the  tender  band, 
Which  she  in  blooming  beauty  bore 
To  him,  whom  she  may  bless  no  more ; 
And  on  her  bosom  nourishing, 
Watched  enraptured  flourishing, 
With  the  love,  the  pride,  the  pleasure, 
Mother-hearts  alone  can  measure. 

Ah,  tender  ties  of  home !  ye  sever ! 

For  she  who  was  the  house's  mother 
In  bed  of  darkness  sleeps  for  ever, 

And  now  her  place  receives  another ! 
Poor  orphans !  where  her  gentle  guidance  ? 

Her  tender  care  all  else  above  ? 
Ah !  where  she  ruled  a  stranger  ruleth, 

Whose  love  is — not  a  mother's  love !  * 

Ring  out !  ring  out !  a  peal  of  dread ! 

Sound  trumpet !  thunder  drum ! 
Wake — rise — prepare  for  battle's  bed ! 

The  foe !  they  come !  they  come ! 
All  start  in  a  bewildered  dream, 
And  woman's  shriek^  and  childhood's  scream 

Half  drown  the  bell's  alarms ; 
While  youth  and  manhood  hasten  out, 

*  Thus  far  I  have  done  little  more  than  paraphrase  select  passages 
from  the  German  poem.  "What  follows,  I  have  added  to  complete  the 
idea  I  had  in  view. 


THE   BELL   SONG.  167 

And  rush,  and  run,  and  storm,  and  shout — 
"  To  arms !  to  anns !  to  arms ! " 

A  thousand  torches  scatter  light 

On  scenes  of  fury  or  affright ; 

While  women,  with  disheveled  hair 

And  wringing  hands,  dart  here  and  there, 

And  weep  and  clamor,  loud  and  wild, 

All  helpless  as  the  wondering  child ; 

Or  others  with  seraphic  eye 

Look  up,  and  trust  in  GOD  on  high, 

Pale,  breathless,  silent,  and  sublime, 

Like  statue  of  the  Grecian  time ! 

And  others  bowed  in  weeping  prayer, 

Invoke  a  heavenly  Father's  care. 

Good  GOD  !  who  would  not  die  for  these — 
The  cherub  child  that  clasps  our  knees, 

The  wife  of  angel  charms, 
The  virgin,  fresh  in  beauty's  glow, 
The  home,  our  Paradise  below — 

To  arms !  to  arms !  to  arms ! 

A  thousand  mingled  weapons  clasn 
And  quiver  in  the  torch's  flash ; 
Some  grasp  the  sword,  the  musket  some, 
The  axe,  the  spade,  whate'er  may  come 

To  the  unfurnished  hand : 
Staff,  club,  or  missile — all  may  serve — 


168  THE   BELL   SONG. 

No  weapon  but  the  arm  can  nerve 
To  guard  its  native  land. 

Hark !  the  storm  of  battle ! 

Guns  and  cannons  thunder 

As  earth  would  rend  asunder; 
Bullets  whiz  and  rattle, 

Showering  death  around ; 

Thousands  press  the  ground, 
And  groan  away  their  souls ; 

Every  sword  is  ruddy, 

Every  hand  is  bloody, 
And  Carnage  o'er  the  field  her  iron  chariot  rolls. 

See  the  foe  receding 

From  the  victor's  might ; 
See  the  hero  leading 

To  pursue  their  flight ; 
See  the  warrior  bleeding, 

Struggling  still  to  fight — 
On  the  field  disabled  lying, 
See  he  grasps  his  weapon  dying, 

Shouting,  while  from  the  battle  storm, 
The  foes,  confusedly  flying, 

Trample  upon  his  mangled  form, 
Lightnings  flashing  from  the  eyes 
Closed  in  death  that  soon  shall  be, 
"Victory! 
Victorv ! " 


THE   EELL   SOKG.  169 

Away  he  springs 
On  conquest's  wings, 
And  in  the  bright  embrace  of  glory  dies ! 

Ring  out !  ring  out  a  solemn  peal, 
While  to  the  King  of  kings  we  kneel, 

Through  whom  our  amis  prevail ! 
Each  soldier  bends  his  laureled  brow, 
And  bows  the  knee  no  foe  could  bow — 
Hail !  GOD  of  Armies !  hail ! 

Around  him  kneel  the  wife,  the  mother, 
The  child,  caressing  each  the  other; 

Their  cheeks,  but  now  so  pale, 
With  triumph  flushing,  wThile  their  eyes 
In  rapture  swimming  seek  the  skies — 

Hail!  GOD  of  Glory!  hail! 

Ring  out !  a  glorious  peal  ring  out ! 

While  like  a  rushing  storm  we  rise, 

And  stand  erect,  and  rend  the  skies 
With  one  triumphant  shout ! 

Hurrah ! 

Ring  out !  ring  out  in  tone  sublime — 
How  awful  swells  the  glorious  chime ! 
While  blending  with  its  tones,  we  raise 
To  GOD  one  choral  song  of  praise, 
To  GOD,  the  Father  of  the  free, 
Who  giveth  us  the  victory ! 


170  MY    CHILDHOOD. 


MY   CHILDHOOD. 

"WEITTEX   AT   THE   AGE    OF   FIFTEEN. 

MY  childhood  scenes!  oh,  where  are  they? 

I  now  am  but  in  boyhood's  years, 
Yet  on  no  scene  my  glance  can  stray 

To  memory  one  trace  endears 

Of  childhood's  smiles,  or  childhood's  tears ; 
I  look  at  every  spot  so  strange, — 

So  altered  now, — and  then  I  say, 
While  pained  my  heart  remarks  the  change, 

"  My  childhood  scenes!  oh,  where  are  they?" 

My  childhood  friends !  oh,  where  are  they  ? 

The  dearest  in  the  grave  recline, 
And  others,  long  estranged  away, 

Forget  they  e'er  were  friends  of  mine; 

And  yet  I  never  can  resign 
The  memory  of  even  such 

As  least  repaid  affection's  sway ; 
But  still  this  thought  my  soul  must  touch, 

"My  childhood  friends!  oh,  where  are  they?" 


MY   CHILDHOOD. 

My  childhood  joys!  oh,  where  are  they? 

And  where  the  innocence,  which  gave 
To  every  joy  its  purest  ray? 

Those  joys  have  found  an  early  grave ; — 

That  innocence ! — oh  could  I  save 
The  innocence  of  childhood's  hour, 

N"ot  thus  should  I  be  sorrow's  prey, 
Nor  sigh  beneath  affliction's  shower, 

"  My  childhood  joys !  oh,  where  are  they?" 

Where  is  my  childhood  now?  and  where 

Shall  be  my  youth? — its  every  joy? 
Its  every  scene  ? — But  spare,  oh  spare 

Its  friends,  though  time  all  else  destroy! 

And  if  some  feelings  yet  employ 
My  mind,  which  heaven  may  pure  esteem, 

Oh !  may  I  not  the  horror  bear 
To  say,  when  launched  on  manhood's  stream, 

"  Where  are  such  feelings  now !  oh,  where  ?  " 


172  TO    CORDELIA. 

TO  CORDELIA. 

BRIGHT  eyes,  fair  tresses,  cherub  faces, 
And  forms  that  paragon  the  Graces, 
Are  found  in  twenty  thousand  places. 

But  for  a  mind  of  gifted  splendor, 
A  heart  confiding,  true,  and  tender, 
The  world  has  very  few  to  render. 

Those  treasures  are  to  thee  imparted, 
For  thou  on  life's  career  hast  started, 
"With  gifted  mind  and  open-hearted. 

A  name  is  thine  that  lives  for  ages, 

And  every  sympathy  engages, 

On  Shakspeare's  consecrated  pages. 

Cordelia !  true  and  faithful  ever, 
Whose  love  and  duty  wavered  never ! 
Her  sainted  name  shall  live  for  ever! 

And  all  that  we  in  her  admire, 
Should  duty  call  or  love  require, 
Thy  generous  bosom  will  inspire. 

But  may  no  grief  like  hers  attend  thee, 
But  every  joy  that  earth  can  lend  thee, 
And  every  good  that  heaven  can  send  thee. 

Come  to  my  heart !  and  closer  pressing, 
Receive,  if  it  be  worth  possessing, 
A  poet's  love,  a  poet's  blessing. 


ALONE.  1 73 

ALONE. 

NAT,  ask  not  of  the  secret  grief 

That  burns  my  heart  away, 
For  what  admits  of  no  relief 

'T  is  useless  to  betray ; 
One  cause  for  gloom  might  well  appear, 

Were  all  the  rest  unknown — 
Where'er  I  am,  whoe'er  be  near, 

I  am  alone ! — alone ! 

At  times  I  seek  some  festive  place, 

Where  gay  companions  throng, 
While  pleasure  brightens  every  face 

With  laugh,  and  jest,  and  song; 
But  lost  to  me  the  cheerful  sound, 

Unheard  the  kindly  tone, 
And  with  a  thousand  friends  around 

I  am  alone ! — alone! 

Yet  there  is  one  who  had  a  charm 

My  sadness  to  dispel, 
When  round  me  twined  her  gentle  arm, 

With  love  no  words  could  tell, — 
A  love  that  seemed  to  have  no  will 

Or  wish  except  my  own — 
Oh,  Clara !  might  I  meet  thee  still, 

I  should  not  feel  alone! 


174  TIIE   DIFFERENCE. 

Young,  beautiful,  and  innocent, 

Her  very  sight  could  bless ! 
Her  looks,  than  words  more  eloquent, 

Did  all  her  thoughts  express; 
And  then  I  did  not  feel  the  curse 

That  on  my  lot  is  thrown ; 
For  soul  with  soul  did  we  converse, 

And  I  was  not  alone ! 

But  Youth  is  still  a  thing  of  light 

And  joy. — Why  should  I  doom 
A  cherub  GOD  has  made  so  bright, 

To  share  my  lonely  gloom  ? 
Though  all  the  comfort  thou  couldst  lend, 

That  may  to  me  be  known, 
Go,  Clara !  seek  some  happier  friend, 

And  leave  me  all  alone ! 


THE  DIFFERENCE. 

X  strides  along  through  thick  and  thin, 
Through  miry  shame  and  thorny  sin ; 
With  cafeless  hand  the  thorn  or  spot 
He  brushes  off,  and  all 's  forgot ; 
But  woman,  soft  and  delicate, 
At  every  step  must  hesitate — 
The  fallen  man  again  can  soar, 
But  woman  falls,  to  rise  no  more. 


THE   PEARL-HANDLED    KNIFE.  175 


THE  PEARL-HANDLED  KNIFE. 

A  LITTLE  boy  sits  by  his  mother's  tomb, 
And  waters  the  flowers  that  above  her  bloom, 
.With  tears  that  flow  from  his  orphaned  heart, 
Sobbing  as  if  it  would  burst  apart. 

He  looks  around  with  a  glance  of  fear, 

To  see  that  no  ruthless  eye  is  near, 

Then  draws  from  his  bosom  his  cherished  toy, 

His  mother's  last  gift  to  her  own  dear  boy : 

It  was  a  knife  with  a  silver  blade, 

And  of  mother-of-pearl  was  the  handle  made. 

That  little  boy  has  a  step-dame  stern, 
Whose  evil  feelings  against  him  burn ; 
Though  once  on  the  orphan  boy  she  smiled, 
And  kindly  treated  her  husband's  child ; 
But  a  change  was  on  her  feelings  thrown 
When  she  had  a  little  babe  of  her  own, 
For  she  loved  her  babe  with  a  love  so  great, 
Her  love  for  the  orphan  was  turned  to  hate : 
For  it  was  thought  she  could  not  bear 
That  Edwin  should  be  his  father's  heir; 


176  THE   PEARL-HANDLED    KNIFE. 

"  And  all  would  be  for  my  child,"  she  said, 
In  her  guilty  heart,  "  were  but  Edwin  dead !  " 

Oh !  a  mother's  love  is  a  holy  thing ! 
But  even  from  good  may  evil  spring, 
And  they  who  would  love  with  a  sinless  love, 
Must  set  their  affections  on  things  above, 
Nor  ever,  for  perishing  things  of  clay, 
From  GOD  and  his  law  be  led  astray. 

Poor  Edwin !  he  found  it  a  cruel  change, 
For  all  was  bitter  and  all  was  strange ; 
Now  first  in  his  life  he  felt  and  heard 
The  passionate  blow  and  the  angry  word, 
And  knew  not  what  it  could  mean  the  while, 
For  he  had  been  ruled  by  look  and  smile. 

His  father  had  gone  abroad  for  a  tune 

To  gather  wealth  in  a  distant  clime, 

And  Edwin  was  left  in  his  step-dame's  power, 

Who  beat  and  abused  him  every  hour. 

But  once  in  a  day  the  orphan  fed, 

And  then  on  a  bone  or  a  crust  of  bread ; 

His  strength  decayed,  and  a  fever  came, 

But  it  made  no  change  in  the  "ruthless  dame ; 

She  spurned  him  up  as  he  sunk  on  the  floor, 

From  which  he  gladly  would  rise  no  more ; 

And  she  made  him  work  like  the  veriest  slave — 

How  he  longed  to  rest  in  his  mother's  grave  ! 


THE   PEARL-HANDLED    KNIFE.  177 

To  that  mother's  grave  he  crawled  one  day, 
When  he  thought  the  dreaded  eye  away, 
And  told  her  unconscious  ear  the  wrong 
Her  poor  little  boy  had  endured  so  long ; 
Then  drew  from  a  secret  slit  in  his  vest 
The  only  comfort  he  yet  possest ; 
It  was  a  knife  with  a  silver  blade, 
And  of  mother-of-pearl  was  the  handle  made. 

Alas !  for  the  cruel  step-dame  was  near, 

And  heard  what  he  meant  for  his  mother's  ear ; 

On  her  evil  mind  temptation  flashed : 

At  a  blow  the  boy  to  the  earth  she  dashed, — 

She  snatched  the  knife  with  a  sudden  start, 

And  buried  the  blade  in  the  orphan's  heart. 

She  opened  the  door  of  his  mother's  tomb, 
And  thrust  him  down  in  that  place  of  gloom ; 
She  hastened  home  and  she  laughed  so  wild — 
"  Come  kiss  me  !  all  is  your  own,  my  child ! " 

A  month  elapsed,  and  the  father  came, 
And  kissed  his  babe  and  his  smiling  dame ; 
But  Avhen  he  asked  for  his  pretty  boy, 
To  deepest  sorrow  it  changed  his  joy; 
"  The  child,"  she  said,  "  of  a  fever  died, 
And  was  buried  at  his  mother's  side. " 

A  year  and  another  passed  away, 

And  the  babe  grew  lovelier  every  day: 
8* 


178  THE   PEARL-HAKDLED    KNIFE. 

It  was  a  bright  and  a  merry  child, 

And  the  father  of  half  his  grief  beguiled. 

Another  year  and  another  past, 

And  the  child  in  beauty  flourished  fast, 

And  the  father's  heart  no  more  was  sad, 

And  the  mother's  heart  was  proud  and  glad : 

She  forgot  her  sin,  as  too  many  do, 

And  fancied  GOD  had  forgot  it  too. 

A  guilty  deed  may  be  long  concealed, 

But  its  time  shall  come  to  be  revealed, 

And  long  unpunished  may  flourish  crime, 

But  vengeance  cometh  in  GOD'S  good  time. 

It  was  a  fair  and  a  sunny  day, 

And  Robert  went  in  the  fields  to  play ; 

But  the  shades  of  night  began  to  fall 

Before  he  returned  to  his  father's  hall — 

"  Oh,  Robert !  where  have  you  been  so  long? 

My  child,  to  wander  so  late  is  wrong. " 

"  Mamma,  I  am  sorry  I  stayed  so  late, — 

This  morning  I  passed  by  the  churchyard  gate, 

And  found  it  open;  I  wandered  there, 

To  gather  the  flowers  so  fresh  and  fair ; 

And  weary  at  last  with  my  play  alone, 

I  laid  me  down  on  the  nearest  stone. 

I  had  not  been  resting  long,  before 

I  noticed  a  tomb  with  a  little  door : 

Oh,  mother !  I  gazed  in  fear  and  doubt, 


THE    PEARL-HANDLED    KNIFE.  179 

For  opened  the  door  and  a  boy  slept  out ; 

But  when  his  beauty  beamed  on  my  sight, 

My  fear  gave  way  to  a  strange  delight. 

His  cheek  was  fair  as  the  sunset  skies 

And  like  stars  of  heaven,  his  sparkling  eyes : 

Adown  his  shoulders  his  ringlets  rolled, 

And  glistened  and  gleamed  in  sunny  gold ; 

But  the  charm  all  other  charms  above, 

Was  the  smile  that  melted  the  heart  to  love ; 

Yet  was  it  a  sad  and  a  serious  smile, 

And  the  tears  would  start  to  your  eyes  the  while. 

lie  came  where  I  lay ; — he  spoke — the  sound 

Breathed  music  in  all  the  air  around ; 

lie  lay  at  my  side,  and  he  took  my  hand, 

And  he  talked  of  a  brighter  and  better  land, 

Where  nothing  of  evil  can  enter  in, 

N"or  sickness  nor  death,  nor  sorrow  nor  sin ; 

Where  GOD'S  holy  children,  a  radiant  band, 

In  his  garden  of  glory  walk  hand  in  hand ; 

Where  all  is  bliss,  and  all  is  love — 

And  he  whispered — '  Oh,  come  to  my  home  above ! ' 

And  thus  we  talked  till  the  close  of  day, 

And  then  we  arose  to  go  away ; 

But  he  flung  his  arms  around  me  mother, 

And  kissed  my  forehead,  and  called  me — '  Brother ! ' 

And  as  he  turned  to  descend  the  grave, 

He  gave  me  a  keepsake — see  what  he  gave ! " 


180  THE   PEAEL-HAISTDLED    KNIFE. 

The  mother  looked — with  a  frantic  start 

She  plunged  it  into  her  guilty  heart — 

It  was  a  knife  with  a  silver  blade, 

And  of  mother-of-pearl  was  the  handle  made. 


THE    BATTLE    OF   THE    SNAKES.  181 


AN   EPISTLE   TO    CATHARINE. 

DEAR  KATE — more  dear  than  I  can  tell ! 
No  matter  though — you  know  it  well — 
Dear  Kate — in  this  delicious  weather, 
I  wish,  don't  you  ?  we  were  together ; 
That  we  might  wander,  hand  in  hand, 
Amid  those  scenes  of  fairy  land, 
Which  noAV  to  glad  thy  vision  rise, 
And  fancy  pictures  to  my  eyes ; 
To  climb  the  hills,  the  woods  explore, 
Or  ramble  by  the  sea-beat  shore, 
Where  ringing  waves  delight  thy  ear 
With  music  mine  shall  never  hear : 
Or  rove  where  sweetest  flowers  embower 
My  pretty  Kate,  "  a  sweeter  flower ! " 
While  balmy  zephyrs  kiss  thy  brow 
Of  beauty — (might  I  kiss  it  now!) 

'Mid  scenes  like  these,  one  summer's  day, 
A  lordly  serpent  wound  his  way; 


182  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   SNAKES. 

From  Rattler's  line  of  length  he  came, 
And  gloried  in  a  tail  of  fame ; 
His  pointed  tongue,  his  sparkling  eyes, 
Ilis  gorgeous  robe  of  thousand  dyes — 
All  these  with  rapture  swelled  his  hide, 
For  snakes,  like  other  fools,  have  pride. 

While  winding  through  a  tangled  brake, 
He  chanced  to  meet  another  snake, 
Who  wore  a  suit  of  sober  black, 
Which  might  become  a  doctor's  back, 
And  coiled  in  many  a  ring,  reclined, 
While  thoughts  as  coiled  perplexed  his  mind. 

"  Good  Parson  Black !  ah,  is  it  you  ?  " 
Quoth  flippant  Rattle,  "  How  d'  ye  do?" 

"  I  'm  pretty  weh1,  I  thank  you,  sir. " 
"  How 's  Mrs.  Black  ?  "     "  All 's  well  with  her. " 
"  How  are  the  little  dears  ?"     "  So  so ; 
The  youngest  has  been  ailing  though." 
"  How  go  the  tunes  ?  "     "  Oh,  very  bad ! " 
Sighed  Black ;  "  the  tunes  are  truly  sad, 
Which  plunges  me  in  deep  dejection, 
And  makes  me  ask  in  sage  reflection, 
Why  all  that  is  beneath  the  skies, 
Is  what  it  is — not  otherwise ! 
Why  Providence,  by  strange  mistakes, 
Instead  of  men,  has  made  us  snakes ; 
Why  we  are  born — and  wherefore  die — 
Why "  "  Fool !"  quoth  Rattle,  "  care  not  why! 


THE   BATTLE    OF   THE   SHAKES.  183 

He  who  himself  will  wretched  make 

Deserves  the  hiss  of  every  snake, 

Enough  for  us  that  all  on  earth 

Is  full  of  beauty,  life,  and  mirth ; 

While  of  its  joys  I  have  a  share, 

I  care  not  who  may  cherish  care — 

Mine  be  the  maxim  wise  and  just: 

'  Live  while  you  live,  die  when  you  must ! ' " 

"  Then  die  this  moment !  "  Black  exclaimed, 

With  foaming  lip  and  eye  inflamed. 

At  this  the  other  shook  his  rattle, 

To  sound  the  stirring  charge  to  battle. 

So  fiercely  they  together  flew, 

They  bit  each  other  right  in  two. 

Quoth  Black,  "  I  beg  a  truce,  my  friend, 

To  ponder  on  my  latter  end !  " 

So  each  in  diflerent  windings  past, 

To  seek  his  tail,  and  fix  it  fast ; 

But  in  their  hurry,  by  mistake, 

Black  got  the  tail  of  Rattlesnake, 

And  Rattle  to  himself  did  tack, 

Unwittingly  the  tail  of  Black. 

Now  Rattle  fiercely  shook  the  tail 
He  thought  his  own,  without  avail, 
To  wake  the  sound  once  wont  to  be 
His  "  earthquake  voice  of  victory !  " 
Now  right,  now  left,  he  lashed  the  ground, 
But  burn  the  tail !  it  gave  no  sound ! 


184  THE   BATTLE   OF   THE   SNAKES. 

H'e  swings  it  left,  he  swings  it  right — 
In  vain,  poor  Rattle  bursts  with  spite. 

Black,  for  his  part,  had  run  away! 
But  as  he  runs,  to  his  dismay, 
Loud  from  his  tail  a  rattle  peals, 
As  if  the  foe  were  at  his  heels. 
More  fast  he  runs,  more  loud  it  rings, 
And  louder,  as  he  faster  springs : 
He  runs  for  six  successive  suns, 
And  still  it  rattles  as  he  runs : 
He  runs  and  runs  till  out  of  breath, 
And  then  the  rattle  sleeps  in  death. 

You  say  this  story  can't  be  true — 
Dear  Kate,  I  quite  agree  with  you ! 
But  now  that  I  must  say  farewell, 
One  little  word  of  truth  I  '11  tell ; 
And  well  you  know  I  speak  sincerely, 
In  saying,  "Kate,  Hove  you  dearly!" 

POSTSCRIPT.     Some  say  they  are  not  able 

To  see  the  moral  of  my  fable ! 

Inform  them,  had  the  snakes  been  wise 

'T  is  like  they  would  have  used  their  eyes! 

And  secondly,  it  hence  appears, 

Our  eyes  are  better  than  our  ears ; 

From  which  reflection  I  contrive 

Some  consolation  to  derive ; 

For  though  I  oft  have  sighed,  my  dear 


THE   BATTLE    OF   THE   SHAKES.  J85 

That  it  is  not  for  me  to  hear 

The  thrilling  music  of  thy  voice, 

That  would  my  very  heart  rejoice : 

Yet  when  my  arm  is  round  thee  wreathing, 

And  on  thy  brow  my  lip  is  breathing, 

When  thy  dear  head  my  hand  caresses, 

Or  wreathes  among  thy  raven  tresses, 

Or  clasps  in  mine  thy  fairy  fingers, 

While  fond  my  look  upon  thee  lingers, 

Then,  while  emparadised,  I  trace 

Affection  breathing  from  thy  face — 

Oh,  then  I  feel  in  deep  delight, 

There  is  a  music  for  the  sight ! 

Which  I  would  not  exchange  for  all 

That  ever  on  the  ear  may  fall. 


186  CATCHING    A    FOX. 


CATCHING  A  FOX. 

A   FABLE. 
INSCRIBED   TO   MY   LITTLE   FKIEXD    CATHAEIXE. 

THE  rise  of  provisions,  and  hardness  of  times, 
Had  thinned  a  poor  fox  like  a  stringer  of  rhymes, 
And  thinner  and  thinner  became  the  poor  sinner, 
With  never  a  penny  to  get  him  a  dinner ; 
(For  me,  when  I  come  to  that  sorrowful  state, 
I  know  where  to  go — to  my  own  little  Kate.) 
But  the  fox  only  went,  with  a  sigh  and  a  shiver, 
To  drink,  like  a  temperance  man,  at  the  river ; 
When,  hark !  from  the  stream  came  a  musical  voice, 

Disturbing  his  reverie  sad — 
Rejoice !  rejoice ! 
Rejoice !  rejoice ! 

Oh!  is  not  an  oyster  a  clever  lad?" 

The  fox  turned  round  with  a  cheerful  gleam, 
And  dipped  his  tail  in  the  cooling  stream, 
And  twitched  and  twirled  it  with  all  his  might, 
But  never  a  fish  was  the  fool  to  bite ; 
This  the  oyster  saw,  while  his  merry  voice 
Repeated  the  chorus  glad : 


CATCHING    A    FOX.  187 

"Rejoice!  rejoice! 
Rejoice !  rejoice ! 
Oh !  is  not  an  oyster  a  clever  lad  ?" 

Thought  the  oyster,  "  Now  is  the  time  for  glory, 
And  to  win  a  name  in  historic  story ! 
This  mighty  fox  shall  my  triumph  grace, 
And  my  fame  shall  shine  on  the  oyster  race." 
This  said,  he  snapped  at  the  fox's  tail, 
While  ah1  the  fishes  stood  mute  and  pale. 
"  Sir  fox,"  says  he,  with  exulting  voice, 

"  I  guess  you  are  caught,  egad ! 
Rejoice !  rejoice ! 
Rejoice!  rejoice! 

Oh !  is  not  an  oyster  a  clever  lad ! " 

Away  from  the  river  sped  the  fox, 
Nor  stopped  till  he  came  to  a  pile  of  rocks, 
Then  he  swung  his  tail  right  fast  and  well, 
And  banged  the  oyster  out  of  his  shell, 
And  ate  him  up  for  a  dinner  choice, 
And  chuckled  the  chorus  glad, 
"Rejoice!  rejoice! 
Rejoice !  rejoice ! 
Oh !  is  not  an  oyster  a  clever  lad ! " 


188  THE    OLD    CLOCK. 


THE  OLD  CLOCK. 

Two  Yankee  wags,  one  summer  day, 
Stopped  at  a  tavern  on  their  way, 
Supped,  frolicked,  late  retired  to  rest, 
And  woke  to  breakfast  on  the  best. 

The  breakfast  over,  Tom  and  "Will 

Sent  for  the  landlord  and  the  bill ; 

"Will  looked  it  over :  "  Very  right — 

But  hold !  what  wonder  meets  my  sight ! 

Tom !  the  surprise  is  quite  a  shock ! " 

"  "What  wonder  ?  where  ?"— "  The  clock !  the  clock !»» 

Tom  and  the  landlord  in  amaze 
Stared  at  the  clock  with  stupid  gaze, 
And  for  a  moment  neither  spoke ; 
At  last  the  landlord  silence  broke — 

"  You  mean  the  clock  that 's  ticking  ther«  ? 
I  see  no  wonder  I  declare ; 
Though  may  be,  if  the  truth  were  told, 
'T  is  rather  ugly — somewhat  old ; 
Yet  time  it  keeps  to  half  a  minute ; 
But,  if  you  please,  what  wonder's  in  it?" 
"  Tom ;  don't  you  recollect,"  said  Will, 
"  The  clock  at  Jersey,  near  the  mill, 


THE   OLD    CLOCK.  189 

The  very  image  of  this  present, 

With  which  I  won  the  wager  pleasant  ?  " 

Will  ended  with  a  knowing  wink — 

Tom  scratched  his  head  and  tried  to  think. 

"  Sir,  begging  pardon  for  inquiring," 

The  landlord  said,  with  grin  admiring. 

"  What  wager  was  it  ?  " 

"  You  remember 

It  happened,  Tom,  in  last  December, 
In  sport  I  bet  a  Jersey  Blue 
That  it  was  more  than  he  could  do, 
To  make  his  finger  go  and  come 
In  keeping  with  the  pendulum, 
Repeating,  till  one  hour  should  close, 
Still,  ''Here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes!' 
He  lost  the  bet  in  half  a  minute. " 
"  Well,  if  I  would,  the  deuce  is  in  it  ?  " 
Exclaimed  the  landlord ;  "  try  me  yet, 
And  fifty  dollars  be  the  bet, " 
"  Agreed ;  but  we  will  play  some  trick 
To  make  you  of  the  bargain  sick ! " 

"  I  'm  up  to  that ! "     "  Don't  make  us  wait, 
Begin.     The  clock  is  striking  eight. " 
He  seats  himself,  and  left  and.  right 
His  finger  wags  with  all  its  might, 
And  hoarse  his  voice  and  hoarser  grows 
With — '•'•here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes!" 


190  THE    OLD    CLOCK. 

"  Hold ! "  said  the  Yankee,  "  plank  the  ready ! " 

The  landlord  wagged  his  finger  steady, 

While  his  left  hand,  as  well  as  able, 

Conveyed  a  purse  upon  the  table. 

"  Tom,  with  the  money  let 's  be  off!  " 

This  made  the  landlord  only  scoff! 

He  heard  them  running  down  the  stair, 

But  was  not  tempted  from  his  chair ; 

Thought  he,  "  The  fools !  I  '11  bite  them  yet ! 

So  poor  a  trick  sha'n't  win  the  bet. " 

And  loud  and  loud  the  chorus  rose 

Of,  '•'•Sere  she  goes — and  there  she  goes  !  " 

While  right  and  left  his  finger  swung, 

In  keeping  to  his  clock  and  tongue. 

His  mother  happened  in,  to  see 

Her  daughter;  "where  is  Mrs.  1? ? 


When  will  she  come,  as  you  suppose  ? 
Son ! " 

'•'•Here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes  !  " 

"  Here  ? — where  ?  " — the  lady  in  surprise 
His  finger  followed  with  her  eyes ; 
"  Son,  why  that  steady  gaze  and  sad  ? 
Those  words — that  motion — are  you  mad  ? 
But  here 's  your  wife — perhaps  she  knows 

And" 

'•'•Here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes  !  " 


THE   OLD   CLOCK.  191 

His  wife  surveyed  him  with  alarm, 

And  rushed  to  him  and  seized  his  arm ; 

He  shook  her  off,  and  to  and  fro 

His  finger  persevered  to  go, 

While  curled  his  very  nose  with  ire, 

That  she  against  him  should  conspire, 

And  with  more  furious  tone  arose 

The  '•'•here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes  !  " 

"  Lawks !  "  screamed  the  Avife,  "  I  'm  in  a  whirl ! 
Run  down  and  bring  the  little  girl ; 
She  is  his  darling,  and  who  knows 

But " 

'•'•Here,  she  goes — and  there  she  goes!" 

"  Lawks !  he  is  mad !  what  made  him  thus  ? 

Good  Lord !  what  will  become  of  us  ? 

Run  for  a  doctor — run — run — run — 

For  Doctor  Brown,  and  Doctor  Dun, 

And  Doctor  Black,  and  Doctor  White, 

And  Doctor  Grey,  with  ah1  your  might. " 

The  doctors  came,  and  looked  and  wondered, 

And  shook  their  heads,  and  paused  and  pondered, 

Till  one  proposed  he  should  be  bled, 

"  No — leeched  you  mean" — the  other  said — 

"  Clap  on  a  blister,"  roared  another, 

"  No — cup  him  " — "  No — trepan  him,  brother  !  " 

A  sixth  would  recommend  a  purge, 

The  next  would  an  emetic  urge, 


192  THE   OLD   CLOCK. 

The  eighth,  just  come  from  a  dissection, 

His  verdict  gave  for  an  injection; 

The  last  produced  a  box  of  pills, 

A  certain  cure  for  earthly  ills ; 

"  I  had  a  patient  yesternight, " 

Quoth  he,  "  and  \vretched  was  her  plight, 

And  as  the  only  means  to  save  her 

Three  dozen  patent  pills  I  gave  her, 

And  by  to-morrow  I  suppose 

That"— 

'•'•Here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes!" 

"  You  all  are  fools, "  the  lady  said, 

"  The  way  is,  just  to  shave  his  head. 

Run,  bid  the  barber  come  anon" — 

"  Thanks  mother, "  thought  her  clever  son, 

"  You  help  the  knaves  that  would  have  bit  me, 

But  all  creation  sha'u't  outwit  me ! " 

This  to  himself,  while  to  and  fro 

His  finger  perseveres  to  go, 

And  from  his  lip  no  accent  flows 

But,  '•'•here  she  goes — and  there  she  goes!" 

The  barber  came — "  Lord  help  him !  what 
A  queerish  customer  I  've  got ! 
But  we  must  do  our  best  to  save  him — 
So  hold  him,  gemmen,  while  I  shave  him ! " 


THE    OLD    CLOCK.  193 

But  here  the  doctors  interpose — 

"A  woman  never" 

"There  she  goes!" 

"  A  woman  is  no  judge  of  physic, 

Not  even  when  her  baby  is  sick. 

He  must  be  bled" — "  No — no — a  blister" — 

"A  purge  you  mean" — "  I  say  a  clyster" — 

" No— cup  him —  "  " Leech  him—  "  "  Pills !  pills !  pills !" 

And  all  the  house  the  uproar  fills. 

What  means  that  smile?  what  means  that  shiver? 
The  landlord's  limbs  with  rapture  quiver, 
And  triumph  brightens  up  his  face — 
His  finger  yet  shall  win  the  race ! 
The  clock  is  on  the  stroke  of  nine — 

And  up  he  starts "  'T  is  mine !  't  is  mine ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  the  fifty ! 
I  never  spent  an  hour  so  thrifty ; 
But  you,  who  tried  to  make  me  lose, 
Go  burst  with  envy,  if  you  choose ! 
But  how  is  this?  where  are  they?" 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  The  gentlemen — I  mean  the  two 
Came  yesterday — are  they  below  ?  " 
"  They  galloped  off  an  hour  ago." 
"  Oh,  purge  me !  blister !  shave  and  bleed ! 
For,  hang  the  knaves,  I  'm  mad  indeed ! " 


194  THE   MAGIC   KING. 


THE  MAGIC  RING. 

I  HAD  a  magic  ring, 

A  charm  of  wondrous  power, 
If  placed  on  fitting  hand, 

And  in  a  fitting  hour : 
For,  to  a  worthy  hand, 

This  talisman  would  bring 
Good  fortune  and  renown, 

And  every  precious  thing ; 
And  youth  and  beauty's  grace 

Forever  would  preserve, 
But  only  to  the  face 

That  might  the  gift  deserve. 
Concealed  from  every  sight, 

I  wore  this  gem  of  art, 
I  hung  it  round  my  neck, 

And  hid  it  on  my  heart. 
For  years  and  years  I  tried 

A  fitting  hand  to  find, 
And  to  the  anxious  search 

I  gave  up  heart  and  mind. 


THE   MAGIC    RETO.  195 

Whene'er  I  met  with  one 

Who  seemed  of  worth  indeed, 
I  took  mysterious  ways 

Her  very  soul  to  read ; 
And  more  to  prove  her  heart, 

My  heart  to  her  I  gave, 
And  waited  on  her  wish, 

A  pleased  and  willing  slave. 
But  ere  upon  her  hand 

The  ring  its  glory  shed, 
Her  love  in  something  failed, 

And  mine  forever  fled ! 

One  came  at  last,  who  seemed 

To  live  for  me  alone, 
To  never  have  a  wish 

Or  will,  except  my  own : 
Her  smile  around  me  shone 

As  soft  as  summer  skies, 
And  all  the  light  of  heaven 

Looked  on  me  from  her  eyes. 
I  tried  her  love  and  truth, 

In  every  way  I  could ; 
But  firm  her  love  remained, 

Her  truth  unshaken  stood. 
"  The  fitting  hand  is  found, " 

I  said,  "  Thou  charm  divine ! 
And  in  a  fitting  time 

Thy  light  shall  on  it  shine ! 


196  THE   MAGIC    RING. 

Then  fortune's  rarest  gifts 

Shall  wait  upon  her  lot ; 
And  beauty  that  will  last, 

And  fame  that  fadeth  not ! " 
"Well  pleased,  I  wandered  forth, 

To  muse  on  this  alone — 
When  crashing  to  my  heart, 

There  came  a  little  stone ! 
And  whose  the  careless  hand 

By  which  the  stone  was  hurled  ? 
Oh,  say  it  was  not  hers ! 

Not  hers,  of  all  the  world ! 
Alas !  the  hand  was  hers 

From  which  the  missile  flew ! 
It  shattered  my  poor  heart ! 

The  ring  was  shivered,  too  ! 


THE   STORY    OF   A    KING.  197 


THE  STORY  OF  A  KING. 

DEDICATED      TO      AX      EMPEROR. 

"  WHAT  are  those  people  reading  ?  " 
Said  Frederick,  half  aloud, 

As  looking  from  his  window 
He  saw  an  eager  crowd. 

One  of  his  six-foot  soldiers 

"Who  heard  him,  answered,  "  Sire ! 
Your  Majesty  permitting, 

I  hasten  to  inquire." 

He  soon  returned :  "  Oh,  Sire ! 

'T  is  horrible  to  see ! 
'T  is  an  atrocious  libel 

Upon  your  Majesty!" 

"  A  libel ! "  said  the  monarch, 

And  paused  with  thoughtful  frown- 

"  Shall  I  disperse  the  people  ?  " — 
"  No — merely  take  it  down." 


198  THE   STOKY    OF   A   KING. 

"  Yes,  Sire ! " — "  Friend,  stop  a  moment — 
You  '11  take  it  down,  indeed — 

But  just  to  place  it  lower, 
So  all  with  ease  may  read. " 

The  soldier  stood  bewildered, 
But  from  the  monarch's  eye 

He  caught  a  hidden  meaning, 
And  left  without  reply. 

-  When  he  removed  the  paper 

They  watched  with  sullen  eyes, 
But  when  he  placed  it  lower, 
They  stood  in  hushed  surprise. 

"  Now  read  at  your  convenience — 

The  king  would  have  it  so, 
Content  to  ask  his  people 

Are  these  things  true  or  no  ?  " 

They  spurned  away  the  libel 
"Which  now  had  lost  its  weight — 

A  thunder  rose  to  heaven — 
"  Live  Frederick  the  Great !  " 

Now  this  was  not  the  weakness 

Of  a  good-natured  fool — 
It  was  the  manly  wisdom 

Of  one  that  knew  to  rule. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    KING.  199 

THOU  who  to  France  hast  given 

Her  former  power  and  glory, 
Complete  thy  own,  by  taking 

The  moral  of  my  story. 

Trust  in  thyself  aud  people — 

In  chains  and  exile  less — 
To  take  the  sting  from  libels, 

Give  freedom  to  the  press  1 


200  WHAT   I    WOULD    LIKE. 


WHAT  I  WOULD   LIKE. 

I  AM  a  very  moderate  man, 

Of  moderate  fortune,  too : 
I  've  forty  dollars,  and  I  think 

A  little  more  would  do. 
I  only  wish  to  buy  a  house, 

Where  fashion  holds  her  sway, 
And  furnish  it  with  all  that  best 

Becomes  the  present  day. 
A  carriage  I  would  like  to  have, 

And  horses,  two  or  four ; 
But  forty  dollars  will  not  pay — 

I  'd  like  a  little  more. 
Sculptures  aud  paintings  I  would  like, 

The  best  of  every  tune ; 
And  books  by  thousands, — all  the  good 

Of  every  age  and  clime. 
Grand  parties  I  would  like  to  give 

To  fifty  thousand  bores, 
And  hand  my  purse  to  borrowing  friends, 

(God  knows  they  come  by  scores.) 


WHAT   I   WOULD    LIKE.  201 

I  'd  like  to  win  the  ladies'  hearts 

With  presents  they  adore , 
But  forty  dollars  won't  do  that — 

I  'd  like  a  little  more. 
And  something  of  less  selfish  aim 

Should  also  share  my  wealth, 
The  ragged  I  would  like  to  clothe, 

And  give  to  sickness  health. 
I  'd  like  to  give  the  foreign  thieves 

And  beggars,  every  day, 
By  thousands,  pours  upon  our  shores, 

The  means to  go  away. 

I  'd  like  to  make  my  friends  all  rich, 

And  all  the  nation  blest ; 

But  forty  dollars  will  not  do — 

Who  offers  me  the  rest? 


9* 


202  THE  PEOPLE'S  PRINCES. 


THE  PEOPLE'S  PRINCES. 

As  I  was  sauntering  through  the  street, 
In  mood  half  thoughtful  and  half  merry, 

I  chanced  a  barefoot  boy  to  meet, 
Ragged,  and  very  dirty — very. 

His  brow  was  dark  with  grief — and  dirt — 
Unknown  to  joy  or  Croton  water — 

Yet  Nature  made  him  fair  and  bright 
As  any  rich  man's  son  or  daughter. 

Slight  fragment  of  humanity, 

Unnoticed  by  thy  luckier  brothers ! 

I  wonder  what  thy  lot  will  be, 

And  what  its  bearing  upon  others ! 

Just  now  my  dog  is  more  account, 

Who  snapping  at  thy  bare  heels  follows  ;- 

Those  would  not  give  a  cent  for  thee, 
Would  bid  for  him  a  hundred  dollars ! 

That  girl  in  gold  and  gems  arrayed, 
Some  "  curled  darling  of  our  nation, " 

Who  glances  at  thee  half  afraid, 

Would  think  thy  touch  a  degradation. 


THE  PEOPLE'S  PRINCES.  203 

That  simpering  fop,  more  girlish  still, 
Dressed  up  as  for  a  world's  inspection, 

Averts  his  face  with  quickening  pace, 
As  if  he  thought  thy  sight  infection. 

No  matter — thou  hast  mind  and  soul 

Within  thy  form's  unsightly  prison ; 
And  these  may  urge  thee  yet  to  rise, 

As  many  a  mighty  man  has  risen. 

Do  wash  thy  face ! — so  I  may  trace 

Some  glimpses  of  thy  future  story; 
Who  knows  but  fate  may  grace  thee  yet 

With  youth  and  beauty,  wealth  and  glory! 

Oh,  then,  that  girl  who  shuns  thee  now, 
May  seek  in  thee  her  joy  or  sorrow ; 

That  fop  may  boast  himself  thy  friend, 

And  come  like  mine — to  fawn  and  borrow ! 

That  as  it  may — the  humblest  child 
I  reverence,  though  in  dirt  and  tatters, 

As  equal  in  the  sight  of  GOD 

With  any  prince  that  fortune  flatters. 

For  ye  are  princes,  Little  Ones ! 

Heirs  of  the  Kingdom  of  Salvation ! 
Your  heavenly  birthright  keep  in  view, 

No  matter  what  your  earthly  station ! 


204  TWENTY    YEARS    AGO. 


TWENTY  YEARS  AGO. 

I  MET  a  girl  the  other  day, 
Some  twelve  years  old,  or  so, 

The  image  of  a  nymph  I  loved 
Some  twenty  years  ago. 

The  blushing  cheek,  the  sparkling  eye, 

The  hair  of  raven  flow, — 
Ah,  how  they  set  my  heart  a-blaze 

Some  twenty  years  ago ! 

I  spoke — her  answers  did  not  much 

Of  wit  or  wisdom  show — 
But  thus  the  lovely  Flora  talked 

Some  twenty  years  ago. 

What !  could  a  shallow  girl  like  this 
My  heart  in  tumult  throw  ? 

I  must  have  been  a  little  green 
Some  twenty  years  ago ! 

I  've  met  the  lovely  Flora  since — 
Her  charms  have  vanished,  though— 

Her  wit  and  wisdom  are — the  same 
As  twenty  years  ago ! 


THE   INFLUENCE    OF   TIIE   AFFECTIONS.          205 

I  look  upon  that  faded  cheek, 

Unlit  by  feeling's  glow ; 
And  thank  her  that  she  scorned  my  love 

Some  twenty  years  ago ! 

Fond  boy!  who  now  wouldst  gladly  die 

To  please  some  simpering  Miss — 
GOD  knows  what  thou  wilt  think  of  Tier 

Some  twenty  years  from  this ! 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  AFFECTIONS. 

THE  beautiful  humanities 

Of  Nature  in  the  simplest  dress, 
Speak  to  our  sweetest  sympathies 

Far  more  than  language  can  express. 
I  saw  a  ragged  little  boy 

Run  to  a  withered  dame's  embrace, 
To  welcome  her  with  bounding  joy, 

And  fondly  press  her  haggard  face. 
Her  shabby  garment  to  his  eyes 

Is  rich ;  her  withered  face  is  fair ; 
For  they  are  hers — and  she  supplies 

His  perished  mother's  love  and  care. 
The  world  is  full  of  pain  and  harm, 

And  life  at  best  is  little  worth ; 
Yet  pure  affection  is  a  charm 

That  almost  makes  a  heaven  of  earth. 


206  SONG    OF   THE    TOOTHACHE    IMPS. 


SONG  OF  THE  TOOTHACHE  IMPS. 

SOMETIMES  about  a  hollow  tooth 
We  dance  around,  around  the  mouth ; 
Thither  the  throbbing  torture  comes, 
And  ague  swelling  doleful  gums : 
Sometimes  we  dance  through  bone  and  brain 
To  howls  of  rage  and  yells  of  pain, 
And  when  with  patient  men  we  meet, 
We  dance — to  the  stamping  of  their  feet. 
At  the  wight's  raving,  dismal  voice, 
When  others  tremble  we  rejoice, 
And  nimbly,  nimbly,  dance  we  still 
To  the  echoes  from  the  horrid  thrill  !* 

*SONG  OF  THE  WITCHES. 

"  SOMETIMES  about  a  hollow  tree, 

Around,  around,  around,  dance  we ; 

Thither  the  chirping  cricket  comes, 

And  beetles  singing  drowsy  hums  ; 

Sometimes  we  dance  o'er  ferns  and  furze 

To  howls  of  wolves  and  barks  of  curs; 

And  when  with  none  of  these  we  meet, 

We  dance — to  the  echoes  of  our  feet ! 

At  the  night-raven's  dismal  voice, 

When  others  tremble  we  rejoice : 

And  nimbly,  nimbly  dance  we  still 

To  the  echoes  from  a  hollow  hill !  " — MACBETH. 


THE   WET   MORNING.  207 


THE  WET  MORNING. 

EQUIPPED  with  silk  umbrella, 

And  broadcloth  overcoat, 
With  overshoes  and  leggins, 

And  muffled  to  the  throat, 
Forth  from  a  plenteous  table, 

Where  he  could  nothing  eat, 
Steps  Midas  to  his  carriage, 

And  takes  his  lordly  seat. 
The  sleek  and  pompous  coachman, 

The  footman  spruce  and  proud, 
Attend  upon  him,  cringing, 

Among  the  cringing  crowd ; 
Yet  on  his  cheek  is  fever, 

And  on  his  brow  a  frown, 
As  off  he  rides,  the  richest 

And  saddest  man  in  town ! 

Barefooted  and  bareheaded, 

His  garments  torn  and  thin, 
His  heart  as  free  from  sorrow 

As  ours  should  be  from  sin  ; 
Fresh  from  some  scanty  table, 

Where,  well  content,  he  fed, 
Perhaps  on  bad  potatoes, 

Perhaps  on  crusts  of  bread ; 


208  THE   WET   MORNING. 

Flushed  high,  not  with  the  wine-cup, 

But  with  his  youthful  blood ; 
Regardless  of  the  rain-drops, 

Unconscious  of  the  mud ; 
Forth  bounds  the  little  Gamin, 

And  trolls  his  hoop  along, 
With  now  a  careless  whistle, 

And  now  a  snatch  of  song. 
His  jacket  flung  wide  open, 

His  bosom  bare  and  brown, 
He  runs,  the  ragged  rascal, 

The  happiest  wight  in  town ! 

With  many  cares  and  troubles 

It  tasks  my  strength  to  bear, 
I  look  on  many  pleasures 

I  may  not  hope  to  share  : 
Yet  finds  the  serpent,  envy, 

No  shelter  in  my  breast — 
Let  theirs  be  power  and  glory, 

Who  have  deserved  them  best ; 
Let  theirs  be  wealth  and  grandeur — 

Who  best  deserve — or  not — 
My  own  may  be  as  happy, 

Although  an  humbler  lot ; 
And  still  to  every  station 

That  Fate  awards  below, 
She  gives  its  compensation, 

If  we  could  only  know! 


LIFE   AND    DEATH.  209 

And  to  the  least  among  us 

GOD  sends  some  blessing  down, 
That  leaves  no  cause  to  envy 

The  greatest  man  in  town ! 

Then  go !  ye  dreams  of  glory ! 

Of  fortune,  hopes  as  vain ! 
Farewell,  ye  smiles  of  beauty! 

So  youth  and  health  remain ! 
Ah !  Time,  remorseless,  whispers, 

"  Farewell  to  youth  and  health !  " 
Rejoice,  poor  little  Gamin ! 

For  thine,  a  priceless  wealth ! 
And  one  who  would  not  envy 

The  laurel  or  the  crown, 
Might  envy  little  Gamin, 

The  happiest  wight  in  town ! 


LIFE  AND  DEATH. 

FEOM   THE    GERMAN. 

LIFE  is  the  hot  and  garish  sun — 
Death  the  refreshing  night. — 

Come  darkness !  I  am  sleepy  now 
And  weary  of  the  light ! 

There  springs  a  tree  above  my  bed- 
A  bird  amid  it  gleams — 

It  sings  aloud — it  sings  of  love — 
I  hear  it  in  my  dreams. 


210  BOOTH. 


BOOTH. 

JUST  now  it  came  into  my  head, 

I  know  not  how  it  came, 
That  somewhere  I  have  heard  or  read, 
That  JUNTOS  BKUTUS  BOOTH  was  dead, 

An  actor  of  some  fame. 

In  RICHARD  he  was  really  great, 

Though  KEAN'S  was  lauded  higher : 
All  parts,  when  not  in  tipsy  state, 
He  played  with  judgment  accurate, 
With  spirit,  force,  and  fire. 

His  tragic  powers  high  praise  bespeak — 

His  comic  claim  as  high ; 
Profound  in  the  absurd  or  weak, 
He  made  you  laugh  in  JEEEY  SXEAK, 

And  almost  made  you  cry! 

For  to  his  sense,  with  feeling  rife, 

The  "  fun  "  was  not  the  best — 
That  tragedy  of  common  life, 
The  loving  fool,  the  tyrant  wife, 
He  deemed  a  serious  jest. 

He  was  a  scholar  deeply  versed 
In  old  and  modern  lore ; 


BOOTH.  211 


A  poet,  too,  and  not  the  worst ; 
His  lines,  when  by  himself  rehearsed, 
"Were  seldom  thought  a  bore. 

At  HOLLAND'S  lodgings  once  we  met — 

Our  speech  on  trifles  ran — 
The  nothings  that  we  soon  forget, 
But  leaves  me  an  impression  yet 
Of  "  wit  and  gentleman. " 

A  bard,  the  humblest  of  our  times, 

While  sauntering  down  the  street, 
Together  strung  these  careless  rhymes, 
And  thought  how  oft  ambition  climbs 
As  poor  reward  to  meet ! 

What  lasts  of  BOOTH  ? — a  paragraph 

Some  flippant  paper  gives ; — 
A  lie,  or  only  true  by  half, 
To  set  on  barren  fools  to  laugh — 
And  thus  his  "  glory"  lives ! 

Green  boy,  who  seest  on  the  stage 

Some  bully  foam  and  roar, 
And  thinkest  it  glorious  to  engage 
Applause,  by  shamming  grief  or  rage, 
Go be  a  fool  no  more ! 

Few  idols  of  the  box  or  pit 

Might  well  with  BOOTH  compare ; 


212  THE   SUM    OF   PHILOSOPHY. 

A  genius,  scholar,  poet,  wit, 
For  every  range  of  talent  fit — 

And  BOOTH  is  what  ? — and  where  ? 

In  vain  his  mind  was  heaven-inspired, 

By  study,  too,  refined — 
All  nature  gave,  or  art  acquired, 
"Was  only  for  the  hour  admired, 
And  then  it  passed  from  mind. 

Life's  real  scenes  should  be  thy  stage — 

Act  well  and  nobly  there — 
Subdue  thy  passions,  curb  their  rage — 
Thou  mayest  not  man's  applause  engage- 
But  that  of  angels  share ! 


THE  SUM  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

Do  fortune's  smiles  upon  thee  wait, 
With  honor,  power,  and  high  estate, 
Let  not  thy  heart  be  too  elate — 

All  this  shall  pass  away. 
Art  thou  the  sport  of  fortune's  hate, 
Forsaken,  poor,  and  desperate, 
Still  bear  the  worst  with  mind  sedate ; 

All  this  shall  pass  away. 
Our  joys  and  pains  are  brief  in  date ; 
The  deeds  we  do  of  good  and  great, 
Alone  survive  our  mortal  state, 

And  never  pass  away. 


THE   1IEKO.  213 

THE    HERO. 

INSCRIBED   TO    JAMES    B.    K . 

LET  others  sing  of  deeds  of  arms 

By  heroes  who  have  ravaged  earth, 
Who  shook  the  world  with  war's  alarms, 

While  death  and  carnage  crowned  their  worth; 

A  nobler  hero  claims  my  song 

Than  we  on  history's  page  may  find ; 

Not  his  the  fame  of  doing  wrong — 
He  lives  a  blessing  to  mankind. 

A  blessing  and  a  martyr,  too — 

For  them  all  comfort  he  forsakes ; 
When  others  for  assistance  sue, 

From  friends  and  family  he  breaks. 

He  leaves  his  food,  he  leaves  his  sleep, 

E'en  in  the  deadest  hour  of  night, 
Though  floods  descend  and  tempests  sweep, 

And  heaven  denies  one  gleam  of  light. 

Through  storm  and  darkness  on  he  goes, 

To  hut  or  hah1 — no  matter  where ; 
Intent  to  soothe  the  sufferer's  woes, 

And  save  the  mourner  from  despair. 

Scenes  he  must  view  that  break  his  heart, 
And  deeds  perform  his  blood  that  chill ; 

But  so  that  he  may  good  impart, 
He  acts  as  with  an  iron  will. 


214  THE   HERO. 

And  he  must  bear  with  vain  complaints, 
When  Nature  makes  the  progress  slow ; 

But  with  a  patience  worthy  saints, 
Will  still  his  needful  cares  bestow. 

Alike  to  palaces  of  wealth, 

Or  hovels  where  the  friendless  pine, 

He  carries  comfort,  life,  and  health, 
As  if  a  messenger  divine. 

For  this  his  comfort  up  he  gave, 
For  this  his  health  is  often  lost, 

And  oft  another's  life  to  save 
The  peril  of  his  life  has  cost. 

Who  is  this  hero,  who  may  claim 

The  world's  applause  and  that  of  heaven  ? 

Ah,  friend !  if  I  should  breathe  thy  name, 
No  other  answer  need  be  given ! 

All  good  physicians  share  the  praise — 
May  worthy  honors  on  them  fall ! 

But  thou  who  hast  prolonged  my  days, 
I  fain  would  praise  thee  more  than  all ! 

But  not  for  praise  didst  thou  impart 

Thy  aid,  or  any  selfish  ends ; 
Yet  take  this  tribute  of  my  heart, 

Best  of  physicians  and  of  friends ! 


215 


WHERE  pleasant  fields  are  growing, 

Where  rocks  are  tossed  on  high, 
Where  streams  in  music  flowing, 

Delight  the  ear  and  eye, 
Where  rivalling  each  other, 

Fair  scenes  invite  our  choice, 
What  should  we  do,  my  brother? 

Rejoice !  we  should  rejoice ! 

Where  woods  in  tangled  wildness 

Oppose  our  weary  way, 
Where  bowers  in  shady  mildness 

Invite  a  sweet  delay ; 
Where  wild  birds  to  each  other 

Their  blithesome  carols  voice, 
What  should  we  do,  my  brother  ? 

Rejoice !  we  should  rejoice ! 

When  slowly  home  returning, 

While  moonlight's  golden  streams 
Refresh  the  brow  still  burning 

With  day's  departing  beams ; 
While  cheering  on  each  other 

With  songs  of  merry  voice, 
What  should  we  do,  my  brother? 

Rejoice !  we  should  rejoice ! 


210  THE   CANARY   BIRD. 


THE  CANARY  BIRD. 

THINE  is  a  lovely  song,  my  bird ! 
Though  by  thy  mates  >t  is  never  heard, 
And  it  may  seem  to  those  around 
An  idle,  though  a  pleasant  sound ; 
For  not  to  them  is  given  to  know 
The  feelings  whence  thy  carols  flow. 
Bird !  thou  art  severed  from  thy  kind, 
And  in  a  narrow  cage  confined, 
Whose  bars  obscure  the  fields  of  light 
Which  once  alone  could  bound  thy  flight, 
Of  which  the  glimpses  serve  at  most 
To  mock  the  freedom  thou  hast  lost ; 
Yet,  bird,  thy  heart  is  brave  and  strong, 
Companioned  only  by  thy  song, 
Which  careless  if 't  is  heard  or  not, 
Sheds  light  and  beauty  on  thy  lot ; 
The  gift  of  GOD  thou  dost  employ, 
And  in  its  use  dost  find  thy  joy. 

Like  thine  how  oft  the  poet's  fate ; 
How  lone  it  seems — how  desolate ! 


THE   CANARY    BIRD.  217 

No  kindred  spirit  near  to  share 

The  feelings  which  he  wastes  on  air ; 

No  heart  in  which  he  can  awake 

Responsive  chords  to  thrill  or  break ! 

Life's  fettering  cares  around  him  cling, 

And  bind  to  earth  his  heavenly  wing, 

And  from  his  vision  half  eiface 

The  skies  which  are  his  native  place. 

His  proudest  lay  is  heard  by  few, 

Nor  meets  from  those  the  honor  due, 

But  to  the  kindest  seems  to  be 

A  beauty — but  a  mystery ! — 

Yet  though  it  may  not  win  him  fame, 

Or  love,  his  more  exalted  aim, 

His  godlike  thoughts  will  have  their  voice, 

And  in  that  glorious  sound  rejoice, 

As  mounting  heaven,  it  peals  along, 

To  GOD  as  a  thanksgiving  song ! 


218     YOUNG    NAPOLEON   AT   HIS    FATHER'S    GRAVE 


YOUNG  NAPOLEON  AT  HIS  FATHER'S 
GRAVE. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  SAPHIK. 

THE  king  of  Rome  in  slumber 

In  Schonbrun's  garden  lies ; 
Sees  not  the  light  of  heaven, 

Sees  not  the  vaulted  skies ; 
Far  on  a  foreign  island 

Reclines  Napoleon ; 
Lies  not  with  his  own  people, 

Lies  not  beside  Ms  son ; 
Lies  not  amid  his  marshals, 

The  pillars  of  his  throne, 
Lies  not  among  his  soldiers, 

In  Europe,  once  his  own ; 
But  buried  deep  in  darkness, 

Mid  circling  seas  and  skies, 
Chained  to  a  rock  forever 

The  dead  Prometheus  lies. 

Where  scorching  sunbeams  wither 
Trunk,  leaf,  and  branch,  and  all, 

The  mighty  Emperor  slumbers, 
•'  The  Little  Corporal ! 


YCCTNG   NAPOLEON   AT   HIS   FATHEE's   GEAVE.     219 

No  flowers  above  him  flourish, 

No  cypress  branches  wave ; 
In  sight  of  all  creation, 

No  pilgrim  seeks  his  grave. 

Thus  many  years  he  slumbers, 

Deserted  and  alone ; 
When  hark !  there  comes  at  midnight 

A  knock  upon  the  stone ; 
A  knock — a  gentle  whisper, 

But  of  no  mortal  breath : 
"  "Wake  up !  wake  up !  thou  hero ! 

Wake  from  the  sleep  of  death !" 
Another  knock  and  whisper : 

"  Rise  mighty  Emperor ! 
Here  to  thy  court  with  tidings 

Comes  Earth's  ambassador ! " 
Another  knock  and  whisper : 

"  Rise  father !  take  me  home ! 
My  soul  has  come  in  lightning ! 

Thy  only  child  has  come ! " 

Earth  crumbles — marble  sunders, 

And  heaves  aside  the  lid, 
That  long  of  the  dead  hero 

The  awful  ashes  hid ; 
And  then  its  fleshless  finger 

Th'  imperial  corpse  extends, 


220     YOUNG   NAPOLEON   AT   HIS   FATHER'S    GRAVE. 

To  show  his  heir  of  glory 
His  empire's  farthest  ends. 

"  Look  down  into  my  palace, 

My  dear,  my  only  son ! 
Again  do  I  behold  thee, 

My  child — Napoleon ! 
Survey  the  ground  beneath  me, 

The  walls  on  either  hand ; 
The  length  and  breadth  thou  seest 

Of  all  thy  father's  land !  " 
Then  hand  in  hand  they  grappled 

In  skeleton  embrace ; 
And  lip  to  lip  caressing, 

They  nestled  face  to  face ; 
The  grave  closed  in  that  moment 

On  father  and  on  son ; 
And  vanished  in  that  moment 

The  House-Napoleon ! 


NEW-YEAK   THOUGHTS.  221 

NEW-YEAR  THOUGHTS. 

How  many  are  now  in  the  cold  grave  reposing 

Who  welcomed  the  dawn  of  the  year  that  has  fled ! 
How  little,  alas !  did  they  think  that  its  closing 

Should  find  them  inurned  in  the  home  of  the  dead ! 
How  many  this  year  to  the  grave's  dark  dominions 

Shall  hasten,  who  welcome  its  rising  career, 
Ere  time  once  again  on  his  air-feathered  pinions 

Shall  usher  the  dawn  of  another  New-Year ! 

And  I,  who  now  muse  on  the  thousands  departed, 

May  follow  them  ere  the  return  of  this  day, 
Bedewed  with  the  tears  of  some  friend  broken-hearted, 

Who  now  smiles  upon  me,  unthinking  and  gay; 
And  better  than  I  should  survive  to  deplore  them, 

The  few  that  to  share  my  affections  remain, 
Oh,  better  by  far  I  should  perish  before  them, 

Nor  hail  the  return  of  the  New- Year  again ! 

How  sad  to  be  torn  from  our  friends  and  connexions, 

And  hid  in*the  valley  of  darkness  alone ! 
What  comfort  to  hope  their  surviving  affections 

Shall  cherish  our  image  on  memory's  throne! 
The  hearts  that  now  love  me,  will  they  not  regret  me  ? 

Will  ever  my  memory  cease  to  be  dear  ? 
The  friends  of  my  bosom — oh !  can  they  forget  me, 

If  swept  from  their  sight  by  the  close  of  the  year? 


222  A   HUNDRED   YEAES   FROM   NOW. 


A  HUNDRED  YEARS  FROM  NOW. 

WHAT  millions  live  to-day 
As  they  might  ever  stay, 
How  soon  to  pass  away! 

Sweet  face  and  lofty  brow, 
So  pleasant  now  to  see — 
Alas !  where  will  they  be 

A  hundred  years  from  now? 

The  sage  with  silver  hair, 
Proud  youth  and  maiden  fair, 
Time  will  not  pause  to  spare- 
Glad  childhood's  sunny  brow, 
The  infant's  dimpling  face — 
All  gone  without  a  trace, 
A  hundred  years  from  now ! 

The  ills  we  scarce  sustain, 
The  trouble  and  the  pain 
That  vex  the  heart  and  brain, 
And  wring  the  calmest  brow — 


A    HUNDRED    YEARS    FROM   NOW.  223 

All  serious  as  they  seem, 
Fade,  a  forgotten  dream, 
A  hundred  years  from  now ! 

The  time  seems  far  away, 
Yet  will  not  long  delay, 
It  comes  with  every  day 

That  goes,  we  know  not  how ! 
Howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 
'T  is  all  the  same  at  last, 

A  hundred  years  from  now. 

In  all  but  this  the  same — 
Some  few  may  leave  a  name, 
A  monument  of  fame 

That  time  shall  never  bow  ; 
Or  heavenly-thoughted  page, 
To  consecrate  our  age 

A  hundred  years  from  now ! 


224  VANITY    OF   VANITIES. 


VANITY  OF  VANITIES. 

VAXITY  of  vanities ! 

All  the  joys  of  earth, 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

Are  of  little  worth. 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

"Wealth  and  grandeur  high, 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

Small  the  bliss  they  buy ! 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

Sweetest  woman's  smile, 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

Charms  but  for  a  while ! 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

Glory's  loudest  blast, 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

Dulls  the  ear  at  last ! 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

What  is  life  at  best  ? 
Vanity  of  vanities ! 

All  but  death's  a  jest ! 


NEW-YEAR   HYJLtf.  225 


NEW-TEAR  HYMN. 

THANKS  to  our  Heavenly  FATHER  ! 

Though  angels  tune  his  praise, 
He  will  permit  His  children 

Their  humbler  song  to  raise : 
Thanks  to  our  Heavenly  FATHER, 

"Whose  love  sustains  us  here, 
And  spares  us  yet  to  welcome 

Another  happy  year ! 

For  all  the  years  departed, 

For  all  the  years  to  come, 
For  all  the  thousand  blessings 

That  crown  our  happy  home : 
For  all  our  loving  kindred, 

For  all  the  friends  we  claim, 
We  thank  our  Heavenly  FATHER, 

And  bless  His  holy  name ! 


10* 


226  SPRING   IS   COMING. 


SPRING  IS  COMING. 

SPRING  is  coming !  Spring  is  coming ! 
Birds  are  chirping,  insects  humming ; 
Flowers  are  peeping  from  their  sleeping ; 
Streams,  escaped  from,  winter's  keeping, 
In  delighted  freedom  rushing, 
Dance  along  in  music  gushing, 
Scenes  of  late  in  deadness  saddened, 
Smile  in  animation  gladdened : 
All  is  beauty,  all  is  mirth, 
All  is  glory  ilpon  earth : 
Shout  we  then  with  Nature's  voice, 
"Welcome,  Spring!  rejoice!  rejoice!" 

Spring  is  coming !  come,  my  brother, 
Let  us  wander  with  each  other 
To  our  well  remembered  wildwood, 
Flourishing  in  Nature's  childhood, 
Where  a  thousand  birds  are  singing, 
And  a  thousand  flowers  are  springing, 
Where  the  dancing  sunbeams  quiver 
On  the  forest-shaded  river ; 
Let  our  youth  of  feeling  out 
To  the  youth  of  Nature  shout, 
While  the  hills  repeat  our  voice — 
Welcome,  Spring!  rejoice!  rejoice!" 


MY    PEETTY   BIKDS.  227 

MY  PRETTY  BIRDS. 

MY  pretty  birds,  as  sweet  your  song, 

And  of  as  blithesome  kind, 
As  when  you  winged  your  flight  along, 

By  but  the  skies  confined ; 
Though  severed  from  your  native  bowers, 

And  caged  in  narrow  space, 
As  gay  ye  carol  through  your  hours 

As  in  your  native  place. 

And  grateful  to  the  tender  hand 

That  watches  o'er  your  need, 
Your  little  hearts  with  love  expand, 

While  from  that  hand  ye  feed ; 
And  this  is  well — ye  need  not  mourn 

The  scenes  that  ye  have  lost, 
For  there  the  pangs  ye  might  have  borne 

Of  famine  or  of  frost. 

But  man  less  wise — restrained  from  ill 

By  the  Almighty's  bars, 
The  rage  to  have  his  erring  will 

His  spirit's  music  jars. 
My  birds,  my  sweet  philosophers, 

May  I  your  wisdom  learn, 
And  welcoming  what  GOD  confers, 

To  His  protection  turn. 


228  MY    CAP. 


MY    CAP. 

MY  cap !  my  -well-worn  leather  cap ; 

Though  time  has  dimmed  thy  glossy  hue, 
Though  broken  hangs  thy  useless  strap, 

And  spots  obscure  thy  band  of  blue, 
I  would  not  give  thee  for  the  best 

That  graces  fashion's  votary; 
So  long  hast  thou  my  brow  caressed, 

Thou  hast  become  a  part  of  me ; 

And  happy  thoughts,  of  better  worth, 

Are  born  in  thy  obscure  embrace, 
Than  any  diadem  of  earth 

Encircles  in  its  resting-place. 
With  thee  on  my  unhonored  head, 

I  con  the  page  of  mystic  lore, 
Explore  the  light  by  genius  shed, 

And  gather  wisdom's  precious  ore. 

For  years,  in  every  scene  of  pride 
Or  joy  that  it  was  mine  to  tread, 

My  chosen  fnend  was  at  my  side, 
And  thou,  my  cap !  upon  my  head ; 


MY   CAP.  229 

And  thus  we  rambled  many  a  mile, 
To  witness  Nature's  wildest  charms, 

To  revel  in  her  glorious  smile, 
Or  worship  her  sublime  alarms. 

We  braved  the  tempest's  furious  shock, 

In  shivering  night,  or  burning  day; 
Headlong  we  leaped  from  rock  to  rock, 

Or  through  the  forest  toiled  our  way ; 
Or  wandered  where  the  rivers  glide 

In  darkness  by  the  tangled  cliff, 
Or  tossed  upon  their  swelling  tide 

That  sobbed  around  the  shuddering  skiff! 

"With  Jerome  thou  hast  seen  me  share 

All  the  communion  friendship  knows, 
The  wildest  hope,  the  deepest  care, 

The  brightest  joys,  the  darkest  woes : 
To  him,  then,  when  I  must  depart, 

To  lay  my  head  on  Nature's  lap, 
For  kingdom  I  'd  bequeath  my  heart, 

For  diadem — my  leather  cap ! 


230  THE   SUN. 


THE    SUN. 

COME  forth,  thou  glorious  sun ! 

And  brighten  up  the  skies, 
And  smile  the  world  upon, 

"Whose  life  is  in  thine  eyes ! 
Thou  beautiful  and  bright ! 

Come  to  thy  throne  of  day, 
"Within  whose  mellow  light 

My  soul  would  melt  away! 

He  comes !  he  comes !  he  blesses 

Creation  like  a  god ; 
And  flings  his  golden  tresses 

Of  glory  all  abroad ! 
Look  up,  my  soul,  forsaken, 

But  now,  by  every  one, 
To  greet  thy  friend,  awaken — 

The  sun !  the  lovely  sun ! 


A  WOMAN   AS    SHE   SHOULD    BE.  231 


A  WOMAN  AS  SHE  SHOULD  BE. 

IN  person  decent,  and  in  dress, 
Her  manners  and  her  words  express 

The  decency  of  mind ; 
Good  humor  brightens  up  her  face, 
Where  passion  never  leaves  a  trace, 

Nor  frowns  a  look  unkind. 
No  vexing  sneer,  no  angry  -word, 
No  scandal  from  her  lips  is  heard, 

Where  truth  and  sweetness  blend ; 
Submission  to  her  husband's  will, 
Her  study  is  to  please  him  still, 

His  fond  and  faithful  friend. 
She  watches  his  returning  way, 
When  from  the  troxibles  of  the  day 

He  seeks  a  home  of  bliss ; 
She  runs  to  meet  him  with  a  smile, 
And  if  no  eye  be  near  the  while, 

The  smile  is  with  a  kiss ! 


232  FOKGET   ME   NOT. 

FORGET  ME  NOT. 

WHEN  I  am  in  that  distant  place 

"Where  I  must  dwell  awhile, 
How  will  I  miss  thy  pleasant  face, 

And  its  bewitching  smile ! 
Thy  image  will  pursue  me  there 

Through  each  sequestered  spot — 
And  oh  that  mine  thy  thoughts  may  share ! 

Sweet  friend !  forget  me  not ! 

In  thee  't  was  mine  to  recognize 

One  of  no  common  kind — 
One  look  into  each  other's  eyes, 

And  mind  replied  to  mind ! 
And  still  thy  spirit  walks  with  mine, 

Though  far  apart  our  lot, 
And  still  my  soul  repeats  to  thine — 

"  Sweet  friend !  forget  me  not !  " 

How  brief  our  friendship's  date  appears ! 

And  yet  it  seems  to  me 
As  if  we  had  been  friends  for  years, 

As  we  for  life  shall  be ! 
And  when,  by  Fate's  remorseless  will, 

I  meet  the  common  lot, 
I  ask  not  for  thy  tears — but  still, 

Sweet  friend ! — forget  me  not ! 


IDELISSEIR,    &G    IPIROOTEI*,.,       . 

(Successors  to  Stanford  &  Swords,) 

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